Tangle
by shame of slytherin
Summary: Life is a tangled, tangled mess. What happens when everyone is not how they seem to be? I know it seems like there are a lot of chapters, but actually each one is very short, so don't be intimidated.
1. Letters

Any character that seems familiar to you, I probably don't own. In fact, everything except the plot belongs to JK Rowling. You know I love you, Jo, darling.

Be kind, this is my first ever Harry Potter FF.  
  
-----  
  
A light summer's breeze blew in the windows of the smallest bedroom of number four Privet Drive, ruffling Harry Potter's hair even more than usual. He laid back on his bed, staring listlessly at his birthday cards, one each from his two best friends Ron and Hermione, and one from Hagrid. Several small leaves were brushed in his window with the wind, and Harry watched them glide gently over the dark wooden floorboards. He was so engrossed in the procession of leaves across his floor that he barely noticed his snowy white owl, Hedwig, land softly on the bed next to his arm.  
  
"What's this?" Harry asked her quietly as he scratched her head. She hooted gratefully in return, and turned so he could better remove the small parcel and letter from her leg.  
  
"A letter from Hermione? I wonder what about..." He thought aloud as he opened the parchment envelope.  
  
_Dear Harry,  
  
My parents are taking a tour of Europe for their 25th wedding anniversary the week before we go back to Hogwarts and leaving me at home. Mum gave me the choice of staying here alone for a week while they were gone, or staying at the Leaky Cauldron for the week. I couldn't decide. I really wouldn't like to be in Daigon Alley the whole week by myself, and wondered if you'd want to stay at the Leaky Cauldron with me. I thought you might be keen on an extra week away from the Dursleys. Send me back an answer as soon as you can.  
  
Love, Hermione  
_  
Harry put the letter down and turned to the small parcel. He carefully removed the brown paper wrapping to reveal a good deal of Muggle money, instructions where to meet Hermione in London, and another small note.  
  
_Harry -  
  
Just in case you say yes. Don't worry about the money, mum and dad gave me loads. I just didn't think the Dursleys would give you enough to get to London. _

_- Hermione  
_  
Harry excitedly grabbed a piece of parchment, an envelope and a quill and sat down to write.  
  
_Hermione,  
  
Of course I'm keen to leave the Dursleys early! I'll go ahead and meet you at the Leaky Cauldron. Oh, and expect your money back, I don't need it. I'll take the Knight Bus, as I'm sure I've still got some Gallons left. I'll see you in a few days!  
  
Harry  
_  
Harry tied the note to Hedwig's leg and walked to the window. "I'll be in Diagon Alley when you get back, Hedwig." He said happily. Hedwig hooted knowledgably. Harry smiled at her as she flew away, disappearing into the horizon.


	2. The Knight Bus

After some persuasion, and the threat that he would turn them all into pigs when he graduated, the Dursley's allowed Harry to leave for London with very little trouble at all.  
  
Harry clamored with his heavy trunk and Hedwig's cage through the quietly suburban streets, attracting quite a bit of attention.  
  
"Best to find an alley and hail the Knight Bus as soon as possible," thought Harry. He turned down the nearest alley and stuck out his wand arm, and almost immediately he heard the unmistakable ruckus of the Knight Bus.  
  
"Ello 'ere! Oo's 'is?" asked a familiar voice. Pimply-faced Stan Shunpike stuck his head out the Bus's door and looked around. An expression of recognition dawned on his face.  
  
"Lookit oo we 'ave 'ere, Ern. Its ol' Neville! Ow've you been, Neville? You 'member us, do you? 'm Stan, an' this is Ern." exclaimed Stan.  
  
"Er...yes, I do remember you. But I'm not Neville Longbottom, remember?" Harry asked warily. He remembered how Stan had reacted the last time he'd found out who Harry was.  
  
"O', 'en oo are you, eh?" Stan blurted.  
  
"Er... Harry Potter?" he said nervously.  
  
"O' righ'! It is 'Arry Potter, Ern!" Stan shouted. Harry cringed. He hoped no one in the surrounding houses could hear the racket.  
  
"I know it, Stan." grunted Ernie Prang, the conductor. Then he added, under his breath, "Bit of an idiot, he is... Climb on."  
  
Harry was particularly ready to simply tell them where he was going, pay Stan, and head up to a higher level of the bus, but Ernie butted in as soon as Harry started up the stairs.  
  
"Stick 'round, if ya will. Be there inna bit." he said shortly.  
  
"Er... right. I'll just sit here, then?" Harry said, pointing to a bed on the far end of the bus. "I've got a bit of work to get done." and with that he shuffled off.  
  
"Always busy, tha' one." Stan commented knowingly. 


	3. Acting Oddly

As the Knight Bus rattled to a stop, Harry realized how much he'd actually been looking forward to seeing Hermione. After weeks and weeks of having no one to talk to but the Dursleys and Hedwig, Harry was certainly ready to have someone to talk to who could give him intelligent responses. Harry moved to pick up his trunk and Hedwig's cage, but Stan came rushing forward, grabbing Harry's trunk and whisking it out onto the cobblestones.  
  
"Ere yoo are, 'Arry. Nice to see yoo 'gain." Stan said happily.  
  
"Er... thank you." Harry said. He didn't know why Stan was suddenly being so helpful. He was usually rather a hindrance. _Do wizards usually tip their porters?_ Harry thought, sheepishly. He decided it was better safe than sorry, and handed Stan a few sickles and thanked him.  
  
"O'... yoo din't 'ave to do tha', Mr. Potter." Stan replied, with a bit more respect than he normally would have. He bowed his cap to Harry, and re- boarded the Bus.  
  
"Goodbye!" Harry called. He turned to the mouth of the alley he'd been let off in, and realized that he was just outside the Leaky Cauldron, which was exactly where he wanted to be. He smiled to himself excited at the prospect of a week with one of his best friends, and totally free of the Dursleys.  
  
Harry dragged his heavy trunk into the Leaky Cauldron, paid for his room, and struggled to get the trunk and Hedwig's cage up the stairs. When he finally got his things settled, he rushed through the inn, through the back garden, tapped the bricks in the wall, and out into Diagon Alley. Harry breathed deep in the aromas of Florean Fortesque's ice cream, the pungent odor of the Apothacary, and a strangely familiar flowery scent.  
  
"Hello, Harry," said Hermione, and Harry could hear a smile creeping into her voice. He whirled around, grinning at her.  
  
"Hermione! Good to see you!" he laughed.  
  
"Oh, Harry! I've missed you," she said, throwing her arms around his neck in a tight hug.  
  
"Well... erm... " Harry sputtered. He could feel his face growing very red indeed. When Hermione finally saw it fit to let go, Harry's face had lost a bit of it's embarressed twinge, but not for long. As she released him, Hermione planted a small kiss on Harry's right cheek.  
  
"I worry that the Dursleys don't treat you right..." she said, as though that explained her behavior. She didn't seem to think that what she'd done was at all odd, but Harry certainly did. She was talking away as though she'd done nothing more than shake his hand firmly and wish him good-day.  
  
"I really do wish Ron could have come," Hermione continued, "I talked to him briefly last week, and he mentioned a family trip to see Charlie, so I didn't bother to ask. He shouldn't have to choose."  
  
"Yeah..." Harry replied, distractedly. He just couldn't get his mind of Hermione's behavior. _Why is she acting so oddly?_ He wondered.  
  
Hermione smiled lightly at him as they walked through the shops, and Harry returned it with a bit of a forced grin. _Why is he acting so oddly?_ She wondered. 


	4. A Surprise for Ron

Ron sat in the warm summer sun, staring out at the desert, very pleased at himself for having done nothing at all the entire day.  
  
"Gerrup, you lazy duffer!" said Fred gruffly, prodding Ron in the head with his wand.  
  
"Oh! What'd you do that for, you git? It's my holiday too, and I don't want to get up."  
  
"Well, you might after you see who's come for tea," replied George smugly.  
  
"Who...?" Ron inquired, but before he would finish, his eldest brother Bill came marching onto the terrace, his long Weasley-red hair blowing in the light breeze.  
  
"Ah! Hullo, Bill. How've you been?" Ron asked smiling.  
  
"Oh, quite well, thanks," Bill laughed, turning a bit. Out of the terrace door swept none other than the most beautiful girl Ron had ever seen.  
  
"Ello, Ron. Eet is verrry nice to see you again. 'Ow 'ave you beeen?" asked Fleur Delacour, the Veela-girl whom Ron had become aquainted with in his fourth year.  
  
"Hullo..." Ron said, a bit stunned.  
  
"Yes... this is my girlfriend, Ron. I believe you two've met already?" Bill asked.  
  
"Yeah... just the once," said Ron. He found himself still in awe of her.  
  
"I 'ave just come to veesit my cousin 'oo leeves 'ere. She is about yoor age, Ron," said Fleur, happily clinging to Bill's arm.  
  
"Lovely," Ron answered. He was slightly lost at the thought of what Fleur's cousin might be like. 


	5. Blind Smitten

It was very, very early morning on Harry's third day in the Leaky Cauldron when he awoke to an extremely high pitched squeeking, and the sound of pecking glass.  
  
"What in the hell?" He murmered, wandering sleepily over to his window.  
  
"Pig, what on earth are you doing here at this time of the morning? You idiot..." Harry said, grabbing the fluttering pouf and untying a letter from his leg.  
  
"You need a rest?" Harry asked the little fluff. Pig hooted happily and jetted over to Hedwig's cage, immediately falling to sleep on her pearch.  
  
"I s'pose that's a yes, then," Harry laughed to himself as he opened the letter.  
  
_Harry,_

_ 'lo mate! How've you been? I'm well, we're off on a trip to visit Charlie, and you won't guess what's happened! Bill's dating Fleur Delacour, but that's not the amazing bit. -_   
  
"Woah... " Harry said aloud. "I've got to go show Hermione." He put on his robe quickly and rushed down the hall.  
  
"Hermione!" He said in a hurried whisper as he tapped on her door. "Hermione! Open up! It's me, Harry."  
  
"I know who it is, you fool," Hermione groaned, opening the door. Her bushy brown hair was much bushier than normal, and her eyes were clouded with sleep. "What do you want?"  
  
"You've got to hear this, it's a letter from Ron. He's met a girl he fancies and he's blind smitten with her!"  
  
"How do you know that?" Hermione asked hotly.  
  
"Because it says so," Harry pulled out the letter and held it out to Hermione.  
  
_- I've just met Fleur's cousin, and I'm blind smitten with her, mate! Her name is Giselle, and she speaks amazingly good English. Great French, too, if you catch my meaning-_

"WHAT!?"  
  
"Well, you see, Hermione, what Ron is trying to say is that-"  
  
"Oh, I know exactly what he's trying to say! I'm appalled!" Hermione snapped.  
  
"Well, then," said Harry, taking back the letter.  
  
"You give that here! I haven't finished with it."  
  
_-- She's quite a looker, too. Long dark blonde hair, brown eyes, perfectly dead-center nose-_  
  
"Oh I don't believe it! Again with the nose being centered!" Hermione burst out. "My nose is dead-center, you don't see him fawning over me!"  
  
"Maybe he's partial to blondes," Harry laughed.  
  
"Partial to blondes, my arse..." Hermione muttered. Harry stiffled the giggles, as he reckoned Hermione would get a bit angry at him. She didn't seem to know she was speaking at all.  
  
"Well, I'll just read the rest, shall I?" Harry asked pompously, acting like nothing had happened.  
  
_ - Anyway, she's just amazing. We've become really good friends, and I really fancy her. Not just because she's pretty, either... she always gives me a good laugh, and she's much nicer than most girls-___   
  
"Does that mean he thinks I'm not nice?" Hermione asked angrily.  
  
"No. I think that means she doesn't nag him to do him homework, or join spew."  
  
"It's S.P.E.W., Harry!"  
  
"Whatever. Here we go, then... back to the letter."  
  
_ - I'm hoping she'll be able to come to Hogwarts this year, but she seems pretty attached to her own school. Can't see why, they certainly haven't got Dumbledore, but still. You can only make them do so much. Don't know how I'll survive without her, mate. 'Course, I s'pose I can still write to her. Anyhow, it's time for dinner, and I've promised Giselle we'd go for a walk before I have to leave tomorrow. To say goodbye properly, and all that. I'll see you in a few days.  
  
Best wishes, _

_Ron_  
  
"That was entertaining," Harry said, smiling.  
  
"Yes, very..."  
  
"What's wrong with you, Hermione?" Harry prodded. "You don't fancy Ron, do you?"  
  
"Of course not! I just don't think this is good for Ron. He's setting himself up to be let down."  
  
"A bit like you and Vicktor, isn't it?"  
  
"Oh don't be ridiculus. I just wanted to be friends with Vicktor."  
  
"Don't you think that may have let him down a bit?"  
  
"I doubt it," Hermione sighed. "I'm just not the sort of girl boys fancy."  
  
Harry looked at Hermione long and hard, taking in the whispy strands of hair floating around her face, her big brown eyes, and her sad smile.  
  
"I fancy you, Hermione," he said at last.  
  
"Excuse me?" Hermione asked. She was sure she'd heard him right, wasn't she?  
  
"As a friend. I fancy you as a friend, Hermione," Harry added quickly.  
  
"Oh... yes. Of course you do," she added dejectedly. She suddenly latched on to Harry in a tight hug.  
  
"What's wrong with me, Harry? I know my hair's a bit ... large, but what else? Are my eyes too brown, is my nose off-center, am I too pale, have I got freckles, what?" she burst out.  
  
Harry wrapped his arms around her, and really hugged her back for the first time ever. She seemed to noticeably relax in his grasp.  
  
"No, no, no, and yes. Your hair is fine, your eyes are a lovely shade of brown, your nose is perfectly center, as you stated earlier, you aren't too pale, not that it would matter, and yes, you have got a few freckles just on your nose there, but they're fine," He said.  
  
Harry had never realized he'd thought any of that until just then. He could feel something dampening the front of his robe, and sopping through to him bare skin underneath, and he reckoned he must have started Hermione crying.  
  
"D'you really think so, Harry?" Hermione asked him, sniffling and trying to sound as though she wasn't crying.  
  
"Yeah. I reckon I do," He answered with a smile. She let go of him just in time to see his smile, and she stood on her toes, and kissed his cheek. Harry blushed a thousand shades of red and pink, but said nothing. He simply backed up one step, sat down on Hermione's bed, and beckoned her to him. She curled up next to him, and with a sigh she said, "Please don't leave." So Harry lay back on the covers, wrapped his arms around her, and they slept.


	6. The Morning After

Harry awoke to an ear-piercing screeching, and the discomfort of being smacked repeatedly in the face with a rather large pillow.  
  
"Get out of my bed!" screamed Hermione.  
  
"What?" Harry asked. His head was still clouded with sleep. The last thing he recalled was the very awkward moment when Hermione had asked him to stay. Looking back, he thought he'd handled it rather well.  
  
"What are you doing here? Why are you in my bed?" Hermione continued to shout.  
  
"You asked me to stay, don't you remember? I brought you Ron's letter, and you got unnessecarily upset and you asked me to stay here. So I did... ring a bell?"  
  
Hermione stopped whacking him with the pillow for a moment.  
  
"I thought I dreamt that. You can image how startled I was to wake up with you in my bed."  
  
"You can image how startled I was when I woke up with you clobbering me with a pillow."  
  
"Oh!" said Hermione, as though she'd only just realized that she'd done it. She carefully put the pillow on the bed in front of Harry. "You can have a go at me with it, if you want."  
  
"Don't be stupid." Harry replied. He had a sudden urge to have a go at her in some other form of the words, but kept it to himself. _Just not the sort for first moves... that's me..._ He thought.  
  
"Well then... I ... What did I say?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"What did I say... last night. What happened? I don't recall it at all," Hermione said quietly.  
  
"I don't know what you mean. You were crying and asked me to stay, so I did," Harry answered, confused.  
  
"Yes... I mean... did you sleep in my bed all night?"  
  
"Yes, I think so," _What is her problem?_ Harry wondered._ I slept with her, big deal... OH!_ Harry suddenly sat up much straighter, with a look of concern on is face.  
  
"D'you mean, you want to know if we... erm... " Harry couldn't think of the words.  
  
"Well, yes," answered Hermione. Her voice was worried.  
  
"Erm... no. At least, I don't recall any of that. I think you kissed me once on the cheek, and then I fell asleep. It's tiring to be woken up in the middle of the night by an owl at your window."  
  
"Oh! That's a relief," Hermione sighed. Harry looked hurt. "I mean... not that... I mean, not to say that you aren't attractive, Harry... or that I don't fancy you or something... I just... well... erm..."  
  
"It's fine. I understand, I mean, I'm not upset or anything," Harry answered honestly.  
  
"Oh, I'm glad. Well... shall we keep this between us? I mean... d'you think it would disturb things with Ron if we told him?"  
  
"Told him what? That I spent the night in your room? I don't see that as any of his business."  
  
"No, no... I mean that we fancy each other," Hermione said quickly.  
  
"Oh... well... erm... yes. We'll keep it quiet, then. It might upset things with Ron and Ginny. She's growing fond of me again."  
  
"Alright, then," said Hermione, standing on her toes and kissing Harry's forehead. "Well, you'd better go back to your own room and get dressed, hadn't you?"  
  
Harry realized for the first time that morning that the robe he'd fell alseep in was no longer on him, and he was standing shirtless in a girl's bedroom.  
  
"Erm... yes, I will then. Have you seen my robe?" 


	7. Happy Meetings

Harry, back in his own room, rummaged through his trunk looking for something to wear.  
  
"I s'pose this is as good as anything," he said, pulling on a pair of old jeans and one of Dudley's smaller t-shirts. He then studied himself in the mirror.  
  
"You don't look too bad today, dear," said the mirror happily.  
  
"Er... thanks," Harry answered, pulling on his robes. Then, suddenly he remembered something.  
  
"I didn't write Ron back yet!" He exclaimed, pulling out some parchment and scribbling down a reply.  
  
_Ron-  
  
Hey, mate! I'm staying in the Leaky Cauldron with Hermione, and she hasn't nagged me about school once! Yet, anyway.-_  
  
"Good ol' Ron, know that'll give him a laugh." said Harry, smiling.  
  
_I'm glad your holiday's been good, and I'll see you at Hogwarts. Have a safe trip home.  
  
Harry  
_  
"That should do it, " said Harry, attaching the letter to Hedwig's leg. "Take this to Ron. I'm not sure how long it will take you to deliver it... I may be at Hogwarts when you get back."  
  
Hegwig hooted and flew off.

* * *

Hermione rushed around her room, trying to look her best in the few minutes she had to get ready. She stopped in front of the mirror to check herself over.  
  
"Well, no sense in trying to do anything to this mop," she sighed, running her fingers through her hair.  
  
"Aside from that, though, you look quite alright, darling." replied her mirror, taking Hermione a bit by shock.  
  
"Erm... thank you," she said. Just then there was a quiet knock on the door.  
  
"Hermione, it's me. Are you ready?"  
  
"Yeah, just a second, Harry," she shouted. She stuffed her booklist and her money into her robe pockets and walked out.  
  
Harry and Hermione were simply under the pretext of buying their schoolbooks, but Harry felt very strongly like taking her somewhere that they could sit and talk, and perhaps he might be able to make a first move. Of course, every time he thought about it, his face reddened, his palms sweated, and he grew shaky, so he highly doubted that was possible.  
  
"Oooh, look at this, Harry!" Hermione said excitedly, drawing Harry from his thoughts.  
  
"Hrm?"  
  
"Look, Rita Skeeter's written a book!" laughed Hermione.  
  
"Oh? What's it about?" Harry asked nervously. He was sure to be in there somewhere.  
  
"Oh, I don't know. Probably rubbish. I'll pick it up for some light reading, anyway, just to be sure," Hermione answered, lifting the rather heavy tome and bringing it to the counter with all her other schoolbooks.

* * *

Harry said goodbye to Hermione in the bar back at the Leaky Cauldron. He wandered up to his room, stowing his new things in his trunk. Just as he stuck his head in to retrieve a rather nasty pair of Uncle Vernon's socks, there was a tapping on his window. It was a rather large, tawny barn owl, carrying an official looking letter. Harry opened it as quickly as possible.  
  
_I'd like to see you in my office at the beginning of the school year. Promptly, please, Mr. Potter. I'd like you there as soon as you arrive at the school.  
  
- Professor M. McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress  
  
_"Dear Lord..." thought Harry. "What have I done now?" Harry packed the letter away with all his other school things, and went down to the bar to meet Hermione.  
  
Just as Harry reached the bottom of the stairs, he heard a loud yell, which sounded very familiar.  
  
"Hullo, Harry!" shouted Ron. He was sitting a small table with Hermione, very freckled and grinning happily.  
  
"Ron, I didn't expect you for a week. How've you been?"  
  
"Good. Ginny and I are staying here until school starts again. Thought we'd surprise you."  
  
"It was quite a surprise," laughed Hermione. "I barely recognized you , you're so... erm... bronze."  
  
"If you mean my freckles have finally taken over every inch of my skin, then I agree," Ron said, smiling. "Ginny browned up very nicely, but I ended up with spots."  
  
"Well, look at it this way: at least they aren't purple or something," said Harry.  
  
"But I'd stand out of a crowd, wouldn't I?"  
  
"I think you do already, Ron. How many people have hair like ours?" asked Ginny, who had just walked over and was pulling out a chair.  
  
"Erm... well, there's mum and dad, Bill and Charlie, Fred an-"  
  
"It was a rhetorical question, Ron," added Ginny, smugly.  
  
"It didn't sound mathematical to me..." said Ron curiously.  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes and laughed, and doing so, she brushed her leg accidentally against Harry's. He gave a bit of a startled jump.  
  
"You alright, mate?" asked Ron, looking around as thought Voldemort might walk up and sit with them.  
  
"Yeah... yeah, I'm just fine," He sighed.


	8. The Mistunderstanding

"It's good to be going back to Hogwarts, isn't it?" asked Hermione cheerfully as she packed her trunk onto the Knight Bus.  
  
"To you, maybe," said Ron, an agonized tone in his voice. "Summer's over, and I won't see Giselle again until Christmas! I can't stand it."  
  
"Get over it," said Ginny shortly.  
  
"What's wrong with you?" demanded Ron. He stared at Ginny as though he'd only just seen her.  
  
"Nothing," she snapped and stomped off.  
  
"What's up with her?" asked Harry.  
  
"She's probably annoyed by Ron talking about his girlfriend so much. It is rather... bothersome," sighed Hermione.  
  
"Yeah... she is my girlfriend..." said Ron, mostly to himself. Harry and Hermione both looked at him and laughed.  
  
"What?"

As the three friends boarded the Hogwarts Express, they looked around for Ginny, whom they hadn't seen since the incident on the bus.  
  
"Mum's going to kill me if I've lost her," Ron groaned.  
  
"Lost me? I'm fifteen, I can take care of myself," growled Ginny from behind him. Ron gave a shocked little hop and then pretended as though he was composed.  
  
"Just the same, " he said, "I'd like it if you'd sit with Harry on the train while Hermione and I are in the Prefect's compartment. We'll come back as soon as we can, mate," Ron added to Harry.  
  
"Right. See you, then," Harry smiled, stowing his trunk onto the baggage rack, and the reaching for Ginny's. "Need some help with that?" he asked.  
  
"Erm... yeah. I could probably do it myself, though."  
  
"No need to strain yourself if you don't have to," replied Harry. He grasped the handle of the trunk, lightly brushing Ginny's hand as he did so. She blushed pink, and pretended to flick her hair as an excuse to turn her head. "That was much easier with two people. You can help me get the down as well," said Harry with a grin.  
  
"Erm... eh... right. I will then."  
  
"You ok?"  
  
"Yeah. I'm fine," said Ginny. After a few moments pause she asked, "So... you fancy Hermione, do you?"  
  
"What?" asked Harry. He wondered if she could hear the shock in his voice. "Ermm... no. Well, yes. As a friend... "  
  
"You do like her, then? I could tell. You look at her entirely too much," said Ginny, her sweet, sad smile creeping back onto her face.  
  
"Do I?" Harry asked. "I mean, no! I don't fancy her."  
  
"You don't? You certainly seem to," laughed Ginny, "You look at her all the time, like you're in love with her."  
  
"Well, I'm not."  
  
"Then why do you look at her like this?" asked Ginny. She sat down right across from Harry, putting her face close to his, and stared happily into his eyes.  
  
"Oh..." said Harry, and he said it very quietly indeed, because Ginny was drawing closer to him by the second. "Ermm-"  
  
Harry hadn't the time to get out what he'd be trying to say, because at that moment, Ginny pressed her mouth against his. Harry was completely taken aback by her kiss, and could think of nothing to do about it. Harry was vaguely aware the Ginny was still kissing him, but couldn't quiet fathom anything until he heard the familiar swish of an opening compartment door.  
  
"Oh!"  
  
"Hermione! I, I can-"  
  
"Don't talk to me, Harry Potter!" shouted Hermione, and stormed out.


	9. Draco

"HARRY! I can't believe you! You're my best mate! I trusted you with my sister!" Ron bellowed. Ginny, as Harry saw, had turned her head away from her screaming brother. Tears welled in her eyes, but she didn't let them fall. She opened her lips to whisper, and at first Harry heard nothing.  
  
"Ron, please. Don't," she pleaded finally.  
  
"Shut up, Ginny!"  
  
"Ron, I- Its not how it seems... I didn't- we didn't- erm... I don't fancy your sister, Ron!" Harry finished helplessly.  
  
"You have a funny way of showing it!" Ron shouted. "Come on, Ginny."  
  
Ginny hung her head and followed Ron toward the door. She seemed utterly changed from a few minuted before. Harry could barely see a resemblence at all. He almost felt sorry for her.  
  
"No, I'll go," Harry said, just as they reached the compartment door. "I'll just.... come back for my trunk later, then..." he sighed.

* * *

Hermione wrapped her cloak tightly around her shoulders and shuddered. She had swept from the compartment and out into the empty hall before hearing anything Harry had to say. She didn't need to. Words screamed through her head, but the only thing she could hear above the din of her own thoughts was the soft sound of the train whisking over the tracks.  
  
She realized she had no idea where she was going, and had ended up in a spot on the train that she'd never seen before. It was something like a lounge car, and she was greatful for it. She sunk slowly down in the a puffed cushion near the window and looked out onto the foggy landscape outside.  
  
"Did you get lost, Ganger?" a quiet, wickedly venemous voice permiated her thoughts.  
  
"A bit," she answered without even looking up. The voice was familiar and she was sure that she didn't like who it belonged to, but she was still numb with shock and couldn't think clearly.  
  
"I'm not surprised. Wouldn't expect anything less from a Mudblood like you," _Ah..._ thought Hermione, _it's Malfoy... I should have guessed. I should have guessed... I should have been more affectionate. I should have -_ her thoughts rambled on in her head, skipping from subject to subject. Tears gathered in her eyes and fell down her cheeks, and she turned her head in shame. She stared intently out the window.  
  
"What's wrong, Granger? Potty and Weasel break up with you?" Draco asked, his voice a bit different than before.  
  
"Shove it, alright Malfoy? Just sod off. I really don't need you to bother me right now... I'm thinking."  
  
"That's terribly different from every other time I've bothered you. Come on, what's got you so down that you can't even insult me back? You see, the key to staying healthy is having a good enemy, didn't you know that, Granger? You have to hate me, it's good for you."  
  
Hermione turned to face him, but he was now sitting on the other end of the pouffy window cushion, his hands folded in his lap. Hermione raised her hand to his face, gently cupped his cheek in her hand, running her fingers lightly over his bristly chin. He looked back, shocked but unmoving, and then she smacked him hard on the face with her free hand.  
  
"Now... leave me alone," Hermione said sternly, getting up andstarting off down the corridor.  
  
"That's quiet and arm you have there, Granger!" Draco shouted after her. She answered with a rude hand gesture. Draco grinned.  
  
"She's rather fiesty, for a Mudblood." 


	10. Hermione

Hermione sat alone in the corner of the prefects' compartment, listening idly to Ernie McMillan talk about the best way to enlarge... something. Perhaps a plant of some sort? She wasn't sure. She didn't care. He mind floated back to Harry and Ginny. She pulled _Hogwarts, A History_ from her bag and propped it up in front of her face and began to cry.  
  
Harry wandered the corridors of the train, pretending simultaneously to be looking for an unoccupied loo, the witch with the food cart, or both. Really, he was thinking of Hermione, standing in the door of the compartment with tears in her eyes. He sat down on the floor of the corridor and wondered how he could have gotten into this mess in the first place, and how he could possibly set this straight.  
  
Ron seethed. No simpler way to put it. He sat in righteous anger, his ears beet red, and freckles paled on his face. He just couldn't put it right in his head. _How could Harry have done something like this?_ He was too angry to consider it being a misunderstanding. He was too angry to consider anything. He glanced at Ginny, who was staring intently at her feet, making sobbing noises every now and then. He realized he must look extremely upset, and perhaps that was upsetting her. He turned to glare out the window.  
  
Ginny, who Ron thought was looking at her feet, was actually waiting for Ron to turn away, so she could wipe her eyes. She was so furious with herself. She hadn't meant to cry. She hadn't meant for it to turn out like this. Actually, she hadn't meant to do anything at all. Out of the utter inability to do anything else, she began to light her duplicate Chocolate Frog cards on fire. Ron didn't protest.  
  
Draco still sat on the cushion by the window, his forehead resting on the cool glass. He wondered what had gotten Hermione so worked up. He's never seen her at a loss for words. _I should be glad for the silence._ But somehow he wasn't. It just detracted from his otherwise good day. He'd told off three first years, and frightened a tiny fourth year into addressing him as 'Sir'. It should have been a good day. 


	11. Ginny

The heavy fog outside had grown thick enough to choke on, and rain spattered loudly against the train windows. Ginny mumbled to Ron that she fancied a walk. He grunted, as he had fallen asleep, and Ginny slipped quietly out. The corridors were darkened now, the small torches on the walls were lit and Ginny wandered past them without any real destination. She simply wanted to escape that tiny compartment. It had somehow felt larger with all her friends in it last year than it had when she was sharing it with only Ron and his anger.  
  
Turning a corner, Ginny realized that she was quiet unfamiliar with her surroundings. She was also unfamiliar with the shadowy figure sitting at the window. It was Draco who still sat on that window seat, his head still resting on the cold glass, but not a Draco Ginny had ever seen before. This was Draco as he was alone, not the pompous rich boy prancing through the school, his personal body guards at his side. He looked so lost. _I almost feel sorry for him..._ Ginny thought.  
  
"Hullo," she said quietly. Clearly Draco had been occupied with his thoughts, because he seemed a little startled.  
  
"What do you want, little Weasel?" He quickly recovered. _He seems as awful as ever..._ Ginny thought.  
  
"I just thought you looked depressed. I thought... erm... maybe I could help?" she asked. _I don't know why I'm doing this..._ she thought.  
  
"Oftentimes, when your father is in prison, you're expected to feel a bit depressed about it. Not that I expect him to stay there very long..." he answered in a very nonchalant tone.  
  
"But you don't?"  
  
"I never said that I don't."  
  
"But it's true. Maybe you aren't thrilled that your father's gone, but you aren't depressed about it..."  
  
"You're right. I'm not," Draco snapped. "If you had a father who was as hard on you as he is on me than you-- Well... I don't know what you'd do."  
  
"I don't, either," sighed Ginny. "I'm sorry, Malfoy. I didn't mean to rub salt in the wound. Well, erm... actually, I did. But it just isn't as satisfying as I'd thought it would be."  
  
"Disappointed, are you?"  
  
"A bit."  
  
They sat in silence for what seemed like ages, not speaking to or looking at each other. They were happy simply knowing that they still disliked each other, and that was one thing that hadn't changed. As the train slowed to a halt, Ginny turned and looked intently at Draco.  
  
"Well, I'd better get at far away from you as possible," she said.  
  
"Right. I'd hate for us to be seen together."  
  
"It would definitely ruin my reputation," Ginny smiled. Draco smiled back.  
  
"I still hate you," he said.  
  
"I know," Ginny answered with a small smile.  
  
They turned opposite of each other and walked away. _It's already shaping up to be an interesting year..._ Ginny thought. 


	12. Hogwarts

As the train pulled to a stop, Ron suddenly jerked away. He looked around, trying to figure out where he was. I'm on the train... and we've stopped... which means... erm... I'm at Hogwarts. Ron thought dully. His mind was highly clouded by the long nap. Just then Ginny stepped into the compartment, followed by Hermione.  
  
"Come on, Ron." Hermione said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Lets go before Harry catches up with us."  
  
"Right. Wouldn't want to be anywhere near the git," Ron said gruffly. He smiled at Hermione and they walked out.  
  
"Thanks for waiting." Ginny called after them, but didn't hurry to catch up.

* * *

Harry, having no one to slow him in his departure from the train, was one of the first to enter the Great Hall. He sat unhappily down and the far end of the Gryffindor table, dreading the moment when his friends would arrive. I'd almost rather be back at Privet Drive. Almost... but not quite. Suddenly, he remembered the note from Professor McGonagall, and hurried to her office.  
  
Harry had barely just arrived at her office, when Professor McGonagall opened her door and beckoned him in.  
  
"Sit down, Potter," she said shortly. This didn't worry Harry at all, because Professor McGonagall's voice always sounded very strict.  
  
"You wanted to talk to me, Professor?" Harry asked.  
  
"Yes... I'm sure you'd realized, that with Umbridge gone that you'd have your place on the Quidditch team back. I thought you'd like to have heard it from me, instead of waiting through the entire feast and hearing it from Ms. Johnson. She's very pleased to have you back on the team. However, if you set one more toe out of line, I will suspend your Quidditch privileges. I want a Gryffindor win more than anyone, but I don't want anymore nonsense that you and Weasley usually come up with."  
  
"I don't think that will be a problem, Professor."  
  
"Good... I'm glad to hear that. Well, you may go."  
  
Harry stood up and sulked over to the door.  
  
"Oh, and Potter.... enjoy the feast," Professor McGonagall said, favoring him with a rare smile. Harry nodded his head and smiled back weakly. He made his way back down to the feast and returned to his original seat, the Great Hall having filled very little while he was gone.  
  
"Why so glum, Harry?" Angelina Johnson asked him, plopping down next to him.  
  
"Oh... nothing. Had a bit of a row with Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. Over something stupid. We had a misunderstanding. And --"  
  
"Well, it had better not affect Quidditch. With Umbridge gone, you're un- banned and officially back on the team. With Ron, and probably Ginny. She has serious potential --"  
  
"Right, I know. McGonagall' s just told me," Harry interrupted. "It won't affect Quidditch at all, promise."  
  
"Good," sighed Angelina. "Well... erm..." she stood up, resting a hand on his shoulder, "Buck up. It'll get better."  
  
"Yeah...." Harry said as she walked off to join some other friends.  
  
The Great Hall filled quickly with students, and soon Harry was utterly surrounded by adoring, newly sorted first years. Harry was glad when Dumbledore stood and raised his hands for silence.  
  
"Welcome, welcome! It seems it's been so long since I've seen this school so filled with students. I don't intend to bore you all for long, as I know you've had a long trip and must be as ravenous as I am." Dumbledore said, grinning. Harry chose this moment to stop listening. He lay his head on this arms and closed his eyes, simply waiting until he could take a few bites of food and retreat to his dormitory.  
  
"And so," Dumbledore said, happily finishing his speech, "I wish you all a pleasant feast and a wonderful first night back. Enjoy!"  
  
With that, the golden plates filled with food, goblets filled with drink, and first year's faces filled with sheer delight. Harry, on the other hand, was filled with emptiness that didn't lessen as he ate. He stood up, and slipped from the Great Hall.  
  
As the feast drew to a close, Hermione, Ron and Ginny had almost begun to enjoy themselves.  
  
"Now, I know you all must be full and tired, but I must say a few last words," Dumbledore said. "If I may, I'd like to see all the prefects in the chamber off the entrance hall immediately after dinner. And to all the rest of you, you're dismissed when you wish to be. First years, your heads of house will lead you to your common rooms."  
  
Ron and Hermione looked at each other curiously, and Ron turned to Ginny.  
  
"We'll meet you in the common room, ok?"  
  
"No, I'm going to sleep. I'm exhausted. I'll see you both in the morning." Ginny said. " Tell me all about whatever it is then, ok?"  
  
"Right." said Hermione, smiling. She didn't know how she could have been angry at Ginny. _She's one of my best friends... this isn't her fault._ Hermione thought. 


	13. The Value of Unity

Hermione and Ron wandered curiously to the chamber off the entrance hall with interest.  
  
"I wonder what Dumbledore wants to tell us..." said Hermione.  
  
"Reckon he wants to go over the changes he's made since Umbridge left?" Ron asked.  
  
"No... I think he would have done that during the speech."  
  
Their conversation was cut short, however, by their arrival at the chamber door. Dumbledore was seated in a squashy sort of armchair, and around him were many floating, poufy cushions.  
  
"Please, sit," he said, smiling. "I supposed you've been wondering why I've gathered you all here today."  
  
Malfoy shot a disapproving look toward him, but Dumbledore chose not to notice. He continued, but not quite as happily as before.  
  
"What I am about to tell you is something that you must treat very seriously. I know you will be tempted to neglect this responsibility, but I urge you not to. The very fate of the wizarding world may lie in your hands someday, and you may not have with you the most important tool of all. I am here to give you the most potent form of magic, above all else you will learn here, and that it is the bonds you have with your fellow wizards. Everyday you have class with your own house, you eat at your house table, spend time in your house common room... you rarely, if ever, communicate between houses. This must end. The sorting hat has given us a valuable warning, that we must work together in a time of crisis. That is all I'm asking."  
  
Dumbledore paused for a deep breath, then continued in a lighter tone.  
  
"I know you all normally patrol the corridors with the same person day in, day out. Now you will patrol with a student from a different house than yourself. You will become friends with them, you will learn about their likes and dislikes, and you will both in turn help each other to excel. If you will please immediately pair up as I call names."  
  
"Ernie McMillan and Zacharias Smith. Ron Weasley and Hannah Abbot. Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy--"  
  
"WHAT?" Scoffed Draco.  
  
"Excuse me, Mr. Malfoy?"  
  
"I'm sorry, Headmaster, but I cannot be paired with her. We have... irreconcilable differences."  
  
"Well, Mr. Malfoy, that is the purpose of this excursive." Dumbledore smiled, and continued his list. Draco glared at Hermione, and Hermione stared back viciously.  
  
"I know you'll all get along swimmingly," Dumbledore grinned. 


	14. An Argument

Hermione and Draco exited the chamber as soon as possible, found a secluded corner, and immediately began to shout each other senseless.  
  
"I cannot believe that barmy old codger put us together!" Draco shouted.  
  
"Don't you say that about Dumbledore! He had a point."  
  
"Well, you seem fairly damn happy about it!"  
  
"Of course I'm not happy about it!" Hermione snapped. "I dislike you as much as you dislike me, Malfoy. There's no sense in us making this anymore miserable than it has to be, though. I'm sure the sooner we act like we like each other, the sooner we'll be able to be assigned new partners."  
  
"I doubt it," Draco sulked.  
  
"Well, it's worth a try, isn't it?" Hermione asked. "I just want to get this over."  
  
"I can't believe I actually agree with you on that."  
  
"What? You think it's worth a try?"  
  
"No. I want to get this over."  
  
"You're impossible!" Hermione groaned and stomped off.  
  
"Dammit, Granger! Get back here!" Draco shouted.  
  
"I thought you didn't want to be around me?" Hermione asked smugly.  
  
"I don't," snapped Draco, "But I'll probably have to be around you less if we just get this stupid thing over with."  
  
"Good," Hermione sighed. "Meet me at the prefects bathroom on the third floor around 11:00. I'm sure no one will see us together at that hour."  
  
"Fine. Mind, I like to be fashionably late," said Draco.  
  
"Mind, I'd like to kick you extremely hard in the --."  
  
"See you at eleven, then."  
  
"Fine," Hermione answered, a grin on her face as she left.

* * *

Draco arrived in the corridor outside the prefect's bathroom promptly, or so he thought, at 11:15. Hermione, who had been waiting less than patiently for twenty minutes, didn't share his view.  
  
"I thought we agreed on eleven!"  
  
"I thought you threatened me into being here at eleven," Draco said smartly.  
  
"Well, I... I just want to get this over and done as soon as I can."  
  
"And so do I, which is why I left my common room at eleven."  
  
"How did it take you fifteen minutes to get here?" Hermione asked.  
  
"I walk leisurely," Draco stated simply.  
  
"You exasperate me," sighed Hermione.  
  
"I have that affect on women," smiled Draco.  
  
"Oh, can we just get down to business!"  
  
"Granger, I never thought you'd be so forward!" said Draco in false shock. "But I really must say, you aren't exactly my type. I don't really fancy curly hair, sorry."  
  
"I hate you!" Snapped Hermione. "Why can't you be serious!? Honestly, I just want to get this over with!"  
  
"I'm rarely serious, or honest, and these two qualities make me a fine example of a Slytherin," Draco grinned.  
  
"Well, being both honest and serious are a few of the qualities that make me a Gryffindor. They're also two of the qualities that are making walk away right now, before I try to kill you."  
  
"Someone has their knickers in a twist," whispered Draco as Hermione stormed away.  
  
"Don't think for a moment that you have any affect at all on my knickers!" Hermione snapped, without turning round.  
  
"Oh, I was only joking!" shouted Draco, wandering after her. 


	15. Getting Lost

Hermione walked quickly, trying very hard to ignore Draco's shouts as he followed her down the corridor.  
  
"What is your problem, Granger?" asked Draco testily.  
  
"You're rude, you've insulted me, and if you want to get right down to it: you're snarky and I severely dislike you," Hermione snapped. "I simply do not want to spend time with you unless I have to."  
  
"Well, you have to. You might as well stop walking."  
  
"If I stop walking, I'll never get away from you, and that is exactly what I'm trying to do."  
  
"How do you expect to lose me in an open corridor?"  
  
"I had hoped you'd lose interest and go back to your common room."  
  
"Ah," said Draco, and with that he sat down on a nearby window ledge and made no motion to follow her.  
  
"You're going to leave me alone?" Hermione asked.  
  
"I'm not going to follow you," replied Draco.  
  
"Well... I'll see you, then," said Hermione civilly. "If you want to meet again and try to talk, send me an owl at breakfast. No one need know it's from you."  
  
"Right. Well... you'd better be off, then."  
  
Hermione didn't need telling twice, nor did she need to have the last word. She simply turned and walked away. As soon as she was out of sight, Draco turned down a neighboring corridor, rushed up a flight of stairs, took a short-cut behind the tapestry of Bharetius the Barmy, and stepped out into a gloomy old hall.  
  
Hermione fumed. She was still horribly angry at Draco. Try as she might, she just couldn't regain her usual composure.  
  
"He just gets under my skin..." said Hermione aloud. "I don't know how or why... but he bothers me more than anyone else. If he'd just try, he could be rather charming. Oh, no... what am I saying?"  
  
Out of the darkness, Hermione heard a faint creaking noise, and she paused and spun around, both startled and embarrassed. She saw nothing behind her, but thought perhaps a mouse or something had been crawling down the corridor in front of her.  
  
As she turned to look, she was surprised to see anything more than Mrs. Norris, but cowering in the shadowy corridor before her was no other than Draco Malfoy, whom she'd been so sure that she's left behind on the third floor.  
  
"What are you doing here, Malfoy? How did you get ahead of me?" Hermione asked abruptly, subtly failing her.  
  
"None of your business, Granger," Draco snapped. It was he who now seemed upset.  
  
"What? You aren't going to call me Mudblood? That isn't like you at all," Hermione snapped back, then immediately regretted it. The look on Draco's face fell from a haughty smirk to the frown of a sad little boy. _If he's come for a second chance, I've just ruined it._ Hermione thought.  
  
"How would you know anything about me, Hermione?" Draco asked, putting great emphasis on her name. Hermione was amazed that he even knew her first name, as he'd never bothered to call her by it.  
  
"Well... I..." Hermione stuttered. For once, she could think of no answer.  
  
"That's what I thought. Not Miss Know-It-All after all, are you?" Draco said hotly, and turned down an adjoining passage.  
  
Hermione grew more and more curious about how he actually had gotten ahead of her, and after a minute of greatly debated thoughts, she turned down the same passage in pursuit.  
  
_Suppose he wanted to say he was sorry..._ Hermione thought. _I could have ruined my chance of getting this over with quickly and getting a new partner.  
_  
After wandering for several dozen meters, Hermione realized that she might as well turn back to the common room, as there was little hope of finding out where Draco had went. For all she knew, he'd taken a short-cut and was back in his common room by the fire.  
  
She looked around, and was startled to find that the staircase she'd just wandered up was no where to be seen. After a moments thought, Hermione decided that she might as well keep going. Perhaps she'd catch up with Draco after all. 


	16. Charming

After fifteen minutes of prowling corridors, Hermione was utterly sure that she was lost.  
  
_What I wouldn't give for the Marauder's Map now,_ she thought.  
  
Moonlight glittered in a window ahead of her, and she hurried to it, thinking that she might catch glimpse of something on the grounds that could help her pinpoint her direction. As Hermione's eyes scanned the dark grounds for a landmark of some sort, she began to feel a sort of prickling sensation, as though she was being watched. She whirled around, hoping to catch whatever it was by surprise.  
  
"Malfoy!" She screamed, startled.  
  
"Thought it'd be a bit longer before you'd be screaming my name..."  
  
"Oooh... I do hate you sometimes. You're really unbearable, Malfoy."  
  
"I have a first name too, you know," he said. "I rather like it, actually. It's Draco."  
  
"I know it is. Are you hinting that you'd like me to call you by it?"  
  
"Only in bed, Hermione."  
  
Hermione sighed angrily. "If you could perhaps not be a pervert, we could accomplish something. I actually learned something about you in the past few minutes..."  
  
"What? That I'm a perverted guy whose name is Draco. That's impressive. Everyone knows that. But you did leave out that I'm quite an arse. People like to remind me of that often."  
  
"Oh... I don't really think you're an arse. You just act like that. I think that perhaps you might even be a bit charming, under that smarmy exterior... Draco..."  
  
"Yeah..." said Draco slowly. "I heard you thinking aloud in the corridor back there."  
  
"What's your middle name, Draco?" asked Hermione suddenly.  
  
"Hmm... dunno if I want to tell you that or not." Draco replied thoughtfully. He slumped down the wall and sat down onto the floor, paying little attention to the fact that he was in a corridor in the middle of the night. Worst of all, with a Gryffindor.  
  
"I'll tell you mine," said Hermione. "It's embarrassing, really. My parents met in Greece, and decided to name their firstborn child a Greek name. So, I ended up with Hermione Alethea Granger. Hermione was the daughter of a Greek goddess and Alethea means 'one who is truthful'."  
  
"Ah yes..." said Draco smartly, "that is a bit embarrassing."  
  
Hermione, who had also taken seat on the floor, hit Draco heavily on the arm with the back of her hand.  
  
"Ouch! Ok... my middle name..." he said hastily. "I still don't know if I want to tell you. You'll go tell Potty and the Weasel, and I'll never hear the end of it."  
  
"No I won't. I don't tell them everything..."  
  
"Hmm... alright then. It's Lucian. It means 'of the light', after my father. Lucius means 'the light'... I guess they wanted no mistake that I'm my father's son."  
  
"Oh... well. I think it's lovely, really." said Hermione, earnestly.  
  
Draco could tell that she wasn't being totally honest, but it mattered very little to him. She was now the only person other than his parents who knew his middle name, and personally, Draco felt the he'd bestowed upon her a great honor.  
  
"Malfoy... mal foi... your surname is French... it means... 'bad faith'," Hermione mused aloud.  
  
"Yes, I know. Fitting, don't you think?" smiled Draco.  
  
"I suppose so, yes," Hermione smiled back. She thought, I suppose he is rather charming, when he isn't trying too hard. She let herself relax for the first time all night, leaning comfortably back against the cool stone wall.  
  
"What next?" she asked, thinking he would suggest another topic of conversation.  
  
"I'd thought, perhaps, I'd show you how to get back to your common room, since you were so utterly lost when I found you."  
  
"Oh!" said Hermione, embarrassed. "Well... I wasn't really lost..."  
  
"You're definitely a Gryffindor."  
  
"What makes you say that?"  
  
"You're an awful liar. Come on," said Draco, standing up and brushing off his robes. He extended his hand to Hermione, offering her help up. She would have scoffed if Harry of Ron had done this, but she grasped Draco's hand.  
  
"Thank you," she replied, and noticed his hand still clasped around hers. She continued with a small smile, her tone good-natured, "I'm amazed you let me touch you, Mudblood that I am."  
  
"You'd be surprised," Draco whispered, drawing closer to her. 


	17. Apologies

"You'd be surprised," Draco whispered, drawing closer to her, "At how fast I intend to wash my hands when I get back to my own common room." He dropped Hermione's hands, and they fell limply to her sides. He turned away from her, his face hidden.  
  
"I'm not surprised at all," Hermione answered, he voice normal and even. _Somehow_, she thought, _I feel as though I've been let down. He was actually becoming enjoyable._  
  
"Come on," said Draco, "I'm still taking you back to your common room, remember?"  
  
"Right..." answered Hermione, looking for some trace of the soft look she'd seen in Draco's eyes. He looked away from her, his head facing determinedly in front of him.  
  
They wandered silently for several minutes before Hermione began to realize where they were. She said nothing, though. If Draco knew she was familiar with her surroundings, he'd leave her to walk the remaining few corridors alone.  
  
"Well, Bob's your uncle," said Draco, triumphantly flourishing his arm toward the portrait of the Fat Lady. "Hope you can find your way up to your dorm and into your nightdress without me."  
  
"I think I'll manage."  
  
"Well... goodnight, then," Draco said, walking back down the corridor.  
  
"Draco, wait... Erm... back there, when you said that I'd be surprised... what would you have done had I ... oh, I don't know, done something odd?"  
  
"Define 'something odd'."  
  
"Well, let's say that, perhaps, I kissed you."  
  
"I think I would have vomited," Draco said, his smirk not reaching his grey eyes.  
  
"Ah, well then. I'd thought it would have been rather funny."  
  
"To you, probably," Draco answered, turning away. "Anyway --"  
  
But whatever Draco intended to say, he didn't get the chance. Hermione reached out for his hand, and he stopped in mid-step.  
  
"Draco... I, well--"  
  
"Shut up, alright," Draco said shortly, pulling her close to him. "Just shut up for once."  
  
Hermione opened her mouth soundlessly, then closed it. She brought her hand to Draco's cheek, resting it lightly on his pale skin. Suddenly, and without much warning, Draco slid his arms around her waist, and kissed her.  
  
"Oh!" gasped Hermione, shocked. She noticed, fleetingly, that the white-blonde stubble on his chin tickled her face.  
  
"Well, then... goodnight." said Draco, quite normally, and walked away.  
  
"Goodnight." Hermione replied quietly, long after he'd gone.

* * *

Ron had been waiting hours for Hermione to return, tense and with his wand ready. He sat rigidly in his favourite armchair by the fire, craning his head every few minutes. He was raptly expecting the portrait hole to burst open, and Hermione to climb in, flaming about how awful Draco was. He intended to give her a stern talking to as soon as she entered, and he thought to himself how he'd brandish his wand, pointing it at her menacingly as he lectured. _Oh Lord, I've turned into a cross between mum and Hermione,_ Ron thought.  
  
Ron knew that if Harry was still his best friend, they would have gone to search for Hermione hours ago. But, without the Invisibility Cloak, Ron was wary to wander in the dark castle, Prefect or not. He'd been in too much trouble with Filch already to chance another midnight encounter.  
  
_This is absurd_, Ron thought. _Just march up to your dormitory, shake Harry, and ask to borrow his Cloak, and the Marauder's Map. And appologize, maybe even invite him along. It is his Cloak..._ he added, as an after-thought.

* * *

Harry had pulled the curtains of his four-poster just after Dean had crawled into bed, but long after Neville's snores filled the air, Harry was still starkly awake. He sat up in bed, thinking about Hermione. Where had she gone, and why wasn't she back? Three hours later, he was sick with worry. _What if something had happened to her, and she was still angry with him?_ Harry hurriedly gathered his Invisibility Cloak, his slippers, and the Marauder's Map from his trunk, and slipped out of the dormitory. Just as he closed the door, he ran directly into Ron.  
  
"What are you doing?" snapped Ron.  
  
"I'm looking for Hermione. She's been gone for hours."  
  
"I know that. I'm the one she's still talking to," Ron said. Harry pushed him aside and continued down the stairs. "Harry, wait. I'm sorry. Look, I came up to the dorm to ask if you wanted to come with me, to find Hermione. I'm worried about her, too. I'm willing to put aside what happened, and team up one more time."  
  
"I'm sorry about this whole misunderstanding, and we'll have a good talking about it when we get back. There's no time right now," Harry said urgently. "I can't believe we waited this long."  
  
"I know. Never would have, if I'd been in my right mind. I've been so mad lately."  
  
"Me too. Been mad at myself that this ever happened," Harry replied, stepping toward the portrait hole. Just as he reached his hand to the knob, it turned, and he and Ron stumbled back, tripped by the Cloak.  
  
"Hermione!" They both gasped.  
  
"We've been really worried about you," Harry continued.  
  
"Well..." said Hermione, "I'm an adult, really. I can take care of myself." 


	18. Ginny's Confession

Harry and Ron stared as Hermione calmly made her way up to the girls dormitory.  
  
"Barking mad," said Ron, "she drives me bloody, barking mad."  
  
"I agree," said Harry, too happy to have Ron back to argue with him.  
  
"I'm beat, think I'll turn in," Ron said, heading toward the stairs. "You coming?"  
  
"Erm... no. I don't think I will. I want a bit of time alone."  
  
"Right. Well, I'll see you in the morning then."  
  
"Right," Harry replied, dropping down into his favourite overstuffed chair.  
  
Harry stared into the fire, watching the flames curl into thousands of shapes. Each moment they flicked and fluttered, moment to moment changing from the Chuddly Cannons professional Quidditch team to his cauldron exploding in Potions, to masses of jumbled shapes he simply couldn't make anything of. But, there was one thing about those jumbled masses he was sure of; the longer he stared at them, the more the grew to look like something very familiar. And as he concentrated, that something familiar grew to look like a face.  
  
"Sirius," gasped Harry. He blinked in amazement, but when he turned his eyes back to the flames, the aparation had vanished.  
  
"I knew it was too good to be real..." he sighed, leaning back in the chair once more, turning it away from the fire. _Sirius... I wish you were here... _He now took to looking intently into the shadows, thinking the most he would see there would be Crookshanks. He was wrong, however, because several minutes of staring produced a faint reddish glow, which Harry thought must have been caused by the strain of his eyes in the dark.  
  
"Hullo, Harry," This voice was one he knew, but had not heard in a while. Ginny stepped into the small circle of firelight, her hair veritably glowing with the reflections of the flame.  
  
"Hullo, Ginny," Harry answered, very stiffly indeed. "What are you doing up so late?"  
  
"Oh, please don't. You sound just like Ron. He's so preoccupied with treating me as though he was mum, he's hardly been nice to me since we left the Burrow."  
  
"I just can't find it in me to be plesent to you, after what you did. Why didn't you say something, instead of letting all the blame fall on me. I almost lost my two best friends over this."  
  
"It's Ron. He's so subconsciously obsessed with filling Percy's shoes he's become totally unbearable. At least that's what I think. He goes completely mad at the smallest little things, he thinks he can be so strict with me. I was just afraid of him, of what he'd say."  
  
"That's no excuse to ruin my life!" Harry shouted, not giving any thought at all to his housemates, sleeping in the dormitories above them.  
  
"Harry, please... I didn't mean... you know I would never hurt you on purpose. I didn't think."  
  
"I had just told you how I felt about Hermione... why did you pick then to ... well, kiss me?" Harry asked akwardly.  
  
"It was my last chance. You were going to tell Hermione how you felt, and I thought I'd have a last go at telling you how I felt. I love you Harry. I've always known, since I first saw you. I didn't know you were famous Harry Potter, all I knew was that you were a skinny, awkward boy with thin arms and wild hair and perfect brilliant green eyes, and I knew I loved you. Imagine how horrible it was to think that you were famous, to think you'd been through so much trouble and heartache. I didn't want you to be famous... I just wanted you to be comforted. And I wanted to do the comforting," Ginny slumped down onto a warm red sofa, seemingly drained from her speech. Harry was stunned, Ginny having said more in a minute than he'd heard in all the time he'd know her.  
  
"I..." Harry paused, "hmm..." he said thoughtfully, being totally at a loss for words.  
  
"Yes... well. I suppose I'll avoid you now at all costs," said Ginny seriously. "I think I'll have a bit of a problem at Quidditch, assuming I make the team, but really... there's no need for Seekers and Chasers to ever speak to each other. So we should get along fine never speaking to each other again."  
  
_That's a bit harsh... _thought Harry.  
  
"Well, that's a bit harsh..." said Harry, finally, being totally unable to think of anything else.  
  
Ginny, Harry realized, was actually very plain. He'd been staring at her since she'd first said 'Hullo' and it had finally struck him. She was really just an ordinary girl, her freckles standing out on her cheeks even in the darkness. And her hair hung around her, loosely curled and tousled from being in bed. _Very normal girl hair_, he thought. Yes, and her eyes were very average too, shining bright and the color of brandy in the bottom of a glass, a sort of deep auburn-brown that was, Harry was sure, a very normal color. A very plain girl, indeed.  
  
"I don't think so," Ginny said, breaking into his thoughts. "No, I am now definitely too embarrassed to speak to you again, so if you'd be so kind as to not go out of your way to converse with me, I'd appreciate it."  
  
"It's 'Girls Are All Completely Mad' day, I suppose..." mumbled Harry, under his breath.  
  
"Thanks," said Ginny, taking this as an acceptance. After a long moment's pause, she turned her face away from him. "I'm sorry... I really, well... if I could do it again... I wouldn't."  
  
And with that, Virginia Weasley climbed the stairs to the girl's dormitory, pulled the curtains about her four-poster, and began to weep. 


	19. Friends Again

"Harry!" Ron said loudly, shaking Harry by the shoulders. "Get up, mate. You'll miss your first class if you don't hurry."  
  
"Hmm? No... It's only the middle of the night... I haven't even gone to bed yet." mumbled Harry, still sitting upright in an armchair. He turned his head away from Ron, and closed his eyes.  
  
"GET UP!" shouted Ron, and Harry jumped, so startled that he fell from his chair. "That's better."  
  
Harry walked, quickly for Ron's sake, up to his dormitory, washed his face and changed his robes. He looked in the mirror on his way out, but his hair was such a lost cause that he didn't even bother to comb it.  
  
As Harry came to the common room, Ron had already gone downstairs, presumably to get a bit of breakfast before their first class. The common room was empty except for one other person. Hermione sat facing him, trying to look as though she wasn't waiting for him to come down.  
  
"Where's Ron?" Harry asked, even though he had a fairly good idea where he'd gone.  
  
"Oh... he went to grab a piece of toast before History of Magic."  
  
"And why're you still here?"  
  
"I just wanted to say thanks for being concerned about me. I'd thought, after what you did on the train, that you didn't care about me anymore. But... well, you don't try to save people that you don't care about."  
  
Harry starred, so happy he couldn't find words. He simply smiled and walked toward the sofa. _Damn History of Magic,_ he thought, _Professor Binns will never notice I'm gone, anyway.  
_  
"But..." said Hermione, and paused. She bit her lip in concentration, and Harry knew this was a bad sign. "I can never feel the same way about you now. You broke my trust... "  
  
"Hermione, I didn't... It wasn't my fault. Ginny kissed me, not the other way around. She didn't say anything because Ron's been so hard on her lately, he's been acting like their mum." Harry paused. In his head, it had seemed like such a good argument, but now that he'd said it, he felt like a fool. _Why should she believe me?  
_  
"Look... I just want to be friends again. I've missed you, and Ron. You don't know how hard it is to lose both your best friends in one stroke. Forgive me enough to be my friend again?" Harry tried to keep the pleading tone from his voice, but he was afraid it had shone though.  
  
Hermione sat, still as stone, for what felt like days. Harry began contemplating the consequences of running away and pretending he'd never said anything.  
  
"Alright." said Hermione, just as Harry was about to sprint to the door. "I missed you as well. There's so much less intelligent conversation when Ron's your best friend."  
  
Harry was so excited, he jumped from the sofa and wrapped Hermione in a hug. She stood stiff in his arms, startled from this sudden display of affection. When Harry finally let go, they both went red from embarrassment.  
  
"I suppose I'd better go to class now." said Harry awkwardly.  
  
"Oh, no! I'm late! I hope Ron took proper notes..." said Hermione.  
  
Harry held back laughter at the idea of Ron taking any notes at all.

* * *

"That was boring, even by Professor Binns' standards," yawned Hermione as she, Harry and Ron left the classroom and headed toward double Potions, with the Slytherins again this year.  
  
"Can't believe we've been stuck with the ruddy Slytherins again! Damn it!"  
  
"But, we've all improved, there really isn't anything for Malfoy and his cronies to bother us about," Hermione answered cheerfully.  
  
"This is the happiest you've been in ages," snapped Ron, still unhappy about having to sit in the same classroom as Malfoy.  
  
"I'm just glad we're all friends again. I missed you being grumpy to Harry, and then Harry complaining about how grumpy you were."  
  
"That's not really how we are, is it?" asked Harry, a smile on his face.  
  
"Course it is," answered Ron. "I'm never cheerful, according to her. Didn't you know, mate? The woman's against us."  
  
The three of them walked laughing on the way to Potions, for the first time any of them could remember. As they reached Professor Snape's classroom, Ron launched into a particularly funny story about how his father had had to deal with a doddery old wizard who kept seventeen bewitched stuffed rabbits as pets. Just as Hermione let out a great squeal of laughter, Professor Snape could be heard shouting:  
  
"Get in my class room, sit down, and be quiet! IMMEDIATELY!"  
  
"And I thought this year might be different," sighed Harry.  
  
The three friends grew quiet in the middle of Ron's anecdote, and rushed into their seats just as the bell sounded.  
  
"Now that everyone is in their seats and silent, we can get on to work," Professor Snape hissed.  
  
Hermione reached deep into her bag, pulling out quill and parchment, the necessities for a lesson in her opinion. She felt something touch her side, and jerked up abruptly. Draco had thrown a tiny wad of parchment at her arm. She picked it up, and as she threw it into her bag, she noticed the neat scrawl of ink covering it.  
  
_We've been putting off our meeting. Might as well get this over with. Drop your answer on my lab table as you walk past.  
  
Bad Faith  
_  
The note was signed in an elaborately beautiful writing, very different from the body of the text. In the bottom corner was an intricate capitol D. Hermione laughed at the signature, Draco's surnames' meaning. She'd had no doubt who'd written it, even without the signature and initial. She dropped the bit of parchment into her bag, pulled out a scrap and wrote in the neatest handwriting she could manage,  
  
_Prefects bathroom again? It's usually empty.  
_  
As she stood to gather her ingredients for the Alteraitous Potion she was supposed to be concocting, she dropped the parchment into Draco's cauldron, instead of on his lab table. I hope he finds it before he mixes his potion.  
  
"Be sure that your cauldrons are brilliantly clean, and that there are no foreign objects inside them," Snape snapped, looking sharply at Neville. Although Neville had certainly improved in the past few years, he still simply fell to pieces during Potions. Snape's piercing gaze never failed to draw a shudder from poor Neville.  
  
"This could," Snape continued, "cause disastrous consequences in the outcome of your potions. I'd like you to be especially careful, Mr. Longbottom. I will not send you to the hospital wing again with no eyebrows or earlobes. I still can't understand how you managed it the first time..."  
  
It was nearly a half hour into potions, and Neville had only barely singed the end of his nose, and Hermione had to admit that was a very good record. _If only he could keep it up the entire class.  
_  
Draco sat watching Hermione closely, subconsciously looking for her to mess something up, even in the slightest. He was determined to prove she wasn't perfectly brilliant at academics, and that he was, in fact, the brightest student in their year. He set Blaise Zabini to mixing his potion, as to keep a better watch on Hermione and barely noticed Blaise at all. She was a slim, tall girl, with long, straight red hair and round green eyes. Today her hair was plaited, and drawn up into a bun at the nape of her neck, which Draco liked to flick lightly against her head when he was bored. Blaise and Draco had known each other since they were very small children, and it was the general consensus between their family and friends that they would have some sort of arcane arranged marriage someday. Draco highly doubted his mother would hold to such nonsense, after how miserable she'd been in the same situation with his father.  
  
Blaise, on the other hand, was sure her father, Xavier, would marry her off to someone for the sole purpose of making her unhappy, and gaining some sort of gold from it. He cared about her very little, because he'd always expected her to be a boy. Her eldest brother was drown in a lake as a boy, and from the moment Blaise's mother had become pregnant again, Xavier had known he would be blessed with another heir. He was certainly disappointed by the tiny red-hair baby he'd ended up with.  
  
"Blaise," said Draco, prodding her in the ear with the tip of his finger, something she hated above everything else. "Watch what you're doing, my potion's boiling. It isn't supposed to boil for another twelve minutes."  
  
"Sure... but really, you _should_ watch it yourself. It's hard to watch both..." but Blaise's voice dropped off dully when she noticed Draco had tuned her out again.  
  
_I wonder why I bother..._


	20. Broken Blaise

With hardly a backward glance at Blaise, feverishly toiling over Draco's potion and her own, Draco wandered across the room to where a clump of Gryffindor's had set up their cauldrons. He propped his elbow lightly on Hermione's shoulder, leaning over her and watching as she gently stirred her thick golden potion.  
  
"Your potions will have turned a light golden brown and thickened to a consistency somewhat like a cream soup. That is, if you aren't a total fool..." Snape said with a touch of menace, glancing quickly at Neville, whose potion was a resolute shade of pale peach, and the consistency of a good banana pudding.  
  
"Looks as though you're working on another zero in Potions, Longbottom," Draco said cheerfully.  
  
"You needn't be so happy about it," snapped Hermione. She lowered her voice, "You're atrocious at Charms, would you like it if I announced that?"  
  
She then turned to Neville, fixing a placid smile on her face. "Neville, have you thought of adding a bit of Murtlap essence to your potion? That should even out the consistency and darken the color. It won't help the potency at all, but at least Snape won't have anything to bother you about until he tests it."  
  
Neville's face filled with relief as he measured out a few drops of the thin silvery fluid and stirred it slowly in. His potion was soon looking very similar to Hermione's, but Draco was sure it wouldn't stand the test if he had to use it.  
  
"Oh!" Blaise said, startled. Her potion had begun to boil over while she'd been attending Draco's. He rushed over, forgetting the well-selected insults he'd intended to aim at Neville.  
  
Blaise's hands were scalded from trying to keep her potion in the cauldron, and her wand was lost in the scuffle. She'd lowered the temperature of her fire, but without her wand she couldn't move the hot cauldron, so it continued to boil over. Draco took out his wand, moved Blaise's potion from the flame, and extinguished the fire.  
  
"Zabini, I'd thought that was a feat only achievable by Longbottom, but you've surprised me once again. Detention, Ms. Zabini, to be served this evening at eight o'clock. You will be cleaning this classroom, which I hope will detour any more episodes like this," Snape scolded. His voice was venomous in a way that surprised Harry, Ron and Hermione. They'd never heard Snape use that tone with any member of his own house.  
  
"And well done, Mr. Malfoy, you've helped prevent a catastrophe. If that cauldron hadn't been cooled, it would have certainly exploded," said Snape. Draco's eyes studied the tops of his own fine leather shoes.  
  
"Thank you, sir," he answered quietly. He looked at Blaise, who's hands were being gently washed by another Slytherin girl, Fiona something-or-other. She had loosely curled dark hair, stuck carelessly behind her ears, and her bright, light grey eyes were darting between Blaise's wounded hands. She wasn't a fully pure-blooded witch, and Draco had never bothered to properly learn her name, but recognized her by sight. Blaise's face hid the pain she must have been suffering, her hands were very badly burned.  
  
"Ms. Oliveraux, will you please take your cauldron off the flame and escort our clumsy Ms. Zabini to the hospital wing. I don't want her destroying anything else," Professor Snape ordered. Fiona nodded lightly, barely looking up. Her hands were busy wrapping Blaise's wounds. Fiona twisted her short dark hair up and away from her face, brushed thin red strands from Blaise's eyes, and led her quickly out of the classroom.  
  
Draco milled around, watching Blaise and Fiona leave. He returned to his seat, put a bit of his potion in a flask, then flasked a bit of Blaise's ruined potion as well, labeled them and put them on Professor Snape's desk.  
  
"Excuse me, Professor," he asked, "I'm not feeling well. I think the fumes from the burning potion's gotten to me. May I be excused from class early?"  
  
"Of course, Mr. Malfoy. Don't forget to clean up your work space on the way out."  
  
Draco walked back to his desk, set Crabbe and Goyle to cleaning up, and with a quick backward glance at Hermione, he walked out.  
  
Hermione was righteously outraged. If Blaise hadn't been tending Draco's cauldron, she would have never been hurt in the first place. And Draco hadn't even said anything! _Perhaps I've been wrong about him again._


	21. Stop Pretending

Blaise pushed her marred hands to her eyes, the cuts and burns stinging with her tears.  
  
"Don't touch your eyes, Blaise," scolded Fiona. "You'll get salt and oil from your face in the wounds. They might get infected."  
  
Fiona was always the one to think of these things. She'd grown up with her stuffy grandmother and her mother, a pretty, half-blooded witch who'd taught her a lot about Muggle science and literature. Fiona was the shame of Slytherin: not only was she not completely pure-blooded, but she'd gone to a private Muggle primary school before she'd gotten her Hogwarts letter.  
  
Blaise stuffed her hands into the pockets of her robes, and decided that if she didn't see them, they wouldn't hurt. It didn't work nearly as well as she'd hoped, but they were soon in the Hospital Wing, and Madam Pomfery was lightly prodding the burns with her wand and the pain was ebbing away.  
  
"That will have taken care of only the pain. These are potion burns, and it isn't safe to use a potion to cure them. I'll bandage you up, and give you some salve. Apply it twice daily and change the bandages regularly. If you aren't mostly healed by next Tuesday, come back and we'll risk it with a potion cure." Madam Pomfery paused, looking at Blaise's detached gaze. "Did you catch that, dear?"  
  
Blaise nodded in compliance, but didn't look up. She had set her mind to thinking about Draco, and nothing was likely to change that.  
  
"Looks as though she's feeling rather awful, Madam Pomfery. D'you mind if I take her to our dorm?"  
  
"Not at all. If anyone stops you, tell them you have my permission to be out of class. I'll write you a note for Professor Snape."  
  
Fiona made it back to class with only a few minutes left to spare, and as she walked in the door, Professor Snape was shouting:  
  
"If you haven't flasked a sample of your potion, labeled it and put it on my desk by the time I finish speaking, I will not accept it. I expect you all to read the chapter on Charm-Potion Combinations and turn in a foot and a half long essay by Monday. No excuses."  
  
Hermione sat, her table space clean and her flask of potion sitting jauntily on Snape's desk. She glared daggers at Draco, who had sauntered back into class and was sitting with his chair pushed back from the table, and was staring intently at his hands.  
  
"That was bad, even for Malfoy," said Harry, looking at Hermione's angry expression.  
  
"Yeah, shows you what kind of a person he is... doing that to his own friend..."  
  
"You know, Ron, he didn't knock the cauldron over on her."  
  
"No, but he let her take the blame for it, even though she'd been helping him!" Ron snapped.  
  
"I didn't say he did the right thing..."  
  
"Well, I'd like it if you'd stop acting like he isn't a Slytherin," said Ron testily. "It's not at though he's got any loyalty."  
  
"Ron, stop it! You're just as bad as anyone else! You're a prefect, you should be setting an example! Remember what Dumbledore said?"  
  
"Damn being a prefect, and damn being an example!" steamed Ron, pushing his chair back and rising from his seat.  
  
"Well then damn you, Ronald Weasley!" shouted Hermione.  
  
"If that's the way you feel, then fine!" snapped Ron, and with that, the bell rang and the entire class flowed from the classroom.  
  
Hermione was now seething with her frustrations with both Ron and Draco. She grabbed her bag, threw it over her shoulder and stormed out. She walked quickly, losing Harry in the shuffle of other students.  
  
"Hermione, wait!" he called after her, but she wasn't listening. Hermione strode forward, hands on hips, right up to Draco. He stopped, flanked by Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson. Hermione noticed that there was a faint yellow-tinged bruise beginning to show on his left cheek.  
  
"If you've come to tell me what a pig I am, don't bother. Fiona's already done so, as you may be able to tell..." said Draco, raising his hand to his cheek.  
  
Hermione reared her hand back and smacked Draco on his other cheek with all the strength she could muster. She starred at him for a moment, almost waiting for a new bruise to blossom.  
  
"When you're cruel to your enemies, I can forgive you, and pretend that its out of spite. But when you're cruel to your friends... I don't know what to think of you," said Hermione sadly. She turned angrily and headed straight for Charms without a backward glance.  
  
"I'm not a callous person..." said Draco quietly as she left. Pansy turned to him, draping her arm around his shoulder and leaning close.  
  
"Why would you care what she thinks, Draco?" she asked, her voice as whining and simpering as usual.  
  
"I don't," sighed Draco, leaving his three fellow Slytherins and heading toward the common room. 


	22. Redeaming Draco

"I hate Charms, I hate Flitwick. I hate classes all together," grumbled Draco as he walked toward the common room. "I'm done with classes today..."  
  
He reached a large tapestry of Salazar Slytherin, pulled it aside, walked down the corridor behind it, took the right fork at then end of the corridor, down a flight of stairs skipping the third, seventh, eleventh and eighteenth stairs, and stopped at the third tapestry to the left. He put his hand on the fabric, and whispered, "_Cruentus, virga_." The tapestry rolled up, revealing a doorway. Draco lay his hand gently on this, too, and the door pushed itself open as though blown by a breeze. He stomped through the common room, and headed straight for the girl's dormitory. Draco stood defiantly at the bottom of the staircase, looking up as though waiting for something.  
  
"Blaise!" he called, "Come down here!"  
  
A few moments later, Blaise's bright red hair could be seen at the top of the dark stairs.  
  
"Where've you been?" asked Draco, though he well knew the answer. He was simply at a loss for something to say to her.  
  
"Fiona made me go see Madam Pomphrey. I told her I could take care of it myself, but she made me go," Blaise sat heavily down on a black pouf by the fire. Blaise hated people, not because she was a rude sort of person, but because she just didn't like the contact. She preferred her mother and her close friends to new people.  
  
"Well... you needed to go, really," Draco said softly, moving to a nearby armchair and pulling it closer to Blaise. "Let me see," he said, reaching out his hand. Blaise gently lay both her hands in one of his, and he peeled away the bandages.  
  
"You're all soaked in blood," Draco said, shocked. He took a silk handkerchief from his pocket and lightly wiped it across her palms.  
  
"Yes... It burned right through my skin. The good news is that I haven't hardly any blisters at all," said Blaise lightly, turning her face to the warm flames.  
  
"The bad news is, you haven't hardly any skin at all to have blisters on," sighed Draco, looking at the space where her eyes used to be.  
  
"It's my own fault. Had I been paying closer attention, I would have remembered to lower the temperature of the flame."  
  
"And if I'd been tending my own potion," said Draco, "you'd not have had to worry about it at all."  
  
"You know I don't mind doing two potions. I love Potions."  
  
"Blaise, I'm sorry," Draco said quickly. He couldn't stand her making excuses for him. He stood, kissing her lightly on the forehead and retreating to the back of the common room. "You know I am..." he finished, almost to convince himself.  
  
"Yes. I know," Blaise answered. And she did know. _If only he knew, though... if only he really knew.  
_  
Draco returned to the fire holding a spool of white cotton bandages, the salve Madam Pomphery had given Blaise, and his wand. He sat back down on the puffy two-person armchair, took Blaise's hands and began casting an intricate charm on them.  
  
"Draco, I don't know if you should be doing this..." said Blaise. Draco had always been so awful at Charms.  
  
"Don't worry, this one I've had plenty of practice with." He ended the charm by very lightly tapping Blaise's wrists with his wand, and drawing the wand around her hands in a large loop. With a flick, Blaise could feel the burning pain lessen.  
  
"The only bad thing about this charm is that its awfully hard to do on your own shoulders and back," sighed Draco, running the fingers of his left hand over his right shoulder.  
  
He then put his wand on the table, and applied a heavy layer of salve, and began wrapping bandages.  
  
"You know, you haven't saved me a trip by this," said Blaise. "I have to go see Madam Pomphery anyway... "  
  
"But she wouldn't know this charm, would she? And then you'd be in pain again an hour later," Draco said, sealing the end of the bandage with his wand. He turned her hands over in his, admiring his handiwork. He pulled her up off the pouf, and propped his feet upon it.  
  
"Here, sit in a proper chair," said Draco, moving over a bit to give her room. Blaise curled into the armchair with him, her head on his shoulder. He flinched a bit, but didn't ask her to move, even when she snaked her arm over his stomach, resting her hand lightly on his arm. Her eyes drooped, as Draco knew they would. It was a powerful charm he'd cast, and he knew it would make her sleepy. He'd experienced it so many times before.  
  
"Love you, Draco..." mumbled Blaise.  
  
He looked at her long and hard afterward, his eyes sad and his heart filled with a certain something that he wasn't quite used to. He looked into the fire, thinking.  
  
"I know," he answered finally, and when he looked back at her, she was asleep. 


	23. Fighting Fiona

Harry sat, alone again, in the common room. Charms had been so uneventful. Tiny Professor Flitwick had fallen off his desk with excitement a few minutes into class, and had to go to the Hospital Wing for a broken ankle and three broken fingers. He had remained there the entire class period, in which time Harry realized how utterly immature sixth years could be sometimes.  
  
Now, though, Harry was glad of their antics. It kept them busy, and away from him. Hermione sat brooding in the corner, her schoolwork spread over an entire table. Harry watched her carefully, noting the subtle way she brushed her hair from her eyes when she was concentrating extremely hard. He caught himself looking at her, and turned his eyes to Which Broomstick?, which was lying unopened on his lap. He stood, the magazine dropping to the floor, and headed up to his dorm.  
  
When Harry opened the door, he expected no one to be in there, but he distinctly heard a noise coming from Ron's bed. A sound, rather familiar to Harry... the sound of a quill scratching quickly and angrily on a sheet of parchment.  
  
"Ron?" asked Harry unsurely.  
  
"Hm... Yeah? I'm here," answered Ron, then under his breath he mumbled, "Damn women... can't live with them..."  
  
"Got problems, mate?" asked Harry, plopping onto his bed, reaching over, and pulling the curtains on Ron's bed. Ron sat with a sheaf of parchment on the bed in front of him, and holding another up in his left hand while furiously writing with his right.  
  
"Girl problems. Blasted Giselle... She's met a French International Quidditch player and now she and Fleur are spending Christmas holidays with the team in there 'ski hide-away'."  
  
"And she told you all this?" Harry said, confused.  
  
"No, Bill did. Fleur's left him, temporarily he says, for another of the damned Quidditch players. I'm a Quidditch player!" Shouted Ron.  
  
"I know mate, don't yell at me... So, Giselle's calling it quits, is she?"  
  
"No!" cried Ron. "She hasn't said a word to me about it!"  
  
"So... you're calling it quits, then?"  
  
"Well... no," sighed Ron.  
  
"Why not!?"  
  
"Erm... I'm not exactly sure. She's beautiful, Harry. She's beautiful and funny, and I love when she says words wrong, and her accent's cute..."  
  
"You love her..." answered Harry, a bit reluctantly.  
  
"I don't think so," replied Ron. "I just don't want to be without her."  
  
"Know what you mean, mate." said Harry, his mind drifting back downstairs to where Hermione sat studying.  
  
"Are you still on about Hermione?"  
  
"Of course I am..." said Harry, but really, he wasn't sure. He missed being able to stay up at night talking to her after Ron had become boring, or had fallen asleep. It didn't feel the same anymore.  
  
"But you've got your eyes open for someone else, don't you?" asked Ron slyly.  
  
"Not really," Harry answered quickly, as Ginny's face unwittingly flashed into his mind. It had been ages since the incident on the train, but Harry was still angry. He couldn't let himself like Ginny.  
  
"Sure..." smiled Ron. "But... you know, about Giselle... I think I'll just tell her that I'm spending Christmas holidays with Hermione. She doesn't know Hermione's my friend. Maybe it'll make her jealous."  
  
"Or it'll make her happy that she doesn't have to tell you about that Frenchman."  
  
"Either way, I win," grinned Ron. Harry simply shook his head.

* * *

Draco had snuck out of the armchair shortly before Fiona came back from Charms, demanding where he'd been.  
  
"Well, you know... here and there," he answered.  
  
"Well, you didn't miss anything. How's Blaise?" asked Fiona, looking at Blaise's lifeless looking body, hunched over in the chair.  
  
"Decent. She'll probably be waking up soon, d'you think she's up for going to the Great Hall for dinner?"  
  
"I don't know why you'd care," snapped Fiona. It would take a while for her to forgive him, even if Blaise had. Though Fiona and Blaise had been friends since childhood, as had Blaise and Draco, Fiona's mother had never held much stock in Lucius Malfoy, and had never let Fiona play with Draco. The only times they'd seen each other as children were when the two of them both happened to be at Blaise's at the same time, and Fiona was certainly glad those times were few and far between. They'd never gotten along at all.  
  
"I care because, even though you don't believe it, Blaise is my friend."  
  
"Then treat her like one!" shouted Fiona angrily.  
  
"Don't you shout at me, you insolent half-blood!"  
  
"Hmm? Heard my name?" Blaise mumbled, sitting up. After a moment to clear her head and look around, she asked, "Arguing again?"  
  
"If you weren't such an insufferable prat, I wouldn't have to shout at you! And how dare you say that to me!"  
  
"Why? Scared of the truth?" sneered Draco.  
  
"No, I dislike how you think you're superior, just because your pure-blood. At least my father isn't in prison."  
  
"At least I have a father," Draco snapped.  
  
"If I had a father like yours, I'd wish he were dead. Having no father is better than having a father like Lucius." Fiona spat.  
  
"Got to agree with that one," said Draco, his tone conceding that he'd given up.  
  
"Draco..."  
  
"I'm sorry, Blaise. I didn't hear you," said Draco, turning as though she'd only just spoken for the first time. "Did you want to send for something to eat, or did you want to go down to the Great Hall?"  
  
Blaise sat, definitely confused. Draco hadn't raged like that in ages, and he'd recovered from it so quickly. His voice when he spoke to her was sweet and affectionate, as though he actually cared what she'd say.  
  
"Erm... I suppose I'll go down. I don't want to trouble anyone."  
  
Draco offered her his arm, and with a quick backward glance at Fiona, he led Blaise from the room. 


	24. What You're Afraid Of

Draco steered Blaise into the Great Hall and over to the Slytherin table, followed closely by Fiona. Draco turned his head slightly to look at Fiona and asked:  
  
"What? Are you afraid we won't make it here safely if you don't follow?"  
  
"No," snapped Fiona.  
  
"Then go away," Draco said simply. _Even with that awful smirk on his face_, thought Fiona, _he still looks awfully beautiful_. As she looked around the Great Hall, she realized that many other girls must have thought the same thing. Draco was stunning in his own harsh way, but that didn't make her like him anymore. If anything, it made her draw farther from him. _If only Blaise saw him in the same light..._  
  
"I'll see you later, Blaise," Fiona said, smiling her best false smile. "Afternoon, Draco," she added, with a curt tilt of her head.  
  
Blaise and Draco sat down and began to talk of the days when they'd sneak from Blaise's manor and down to the river to splash mud at each other. As the Great Hall began to fill with more students, though, Draco's mind began to wander.  
  
"Will you excuse me?" he asked, and without waiting for an answer, he strode across the Hall.  
  
"Of course," answered Blaise as he walked away, and dropped her eyes to her hands. She'd forgotten to change her bandages again...  
  
Draco walk intently toward the door to the Hall, his eyes fixed on the stairway, and the corridor next to it. A gaggle of cheerful Gryffindors, and a sullen Harry, thundered down the stairs and Draco wondered if they knew what the word elegant meant.  
  
Then, out of the corner of his eye he saw someone who certainly knew what elegance meant. Hermione came lightly down the stairs, her hand hovering just over the banister, and her eyes concentrating on the crowd in front of her. She did not thunder, nor did she run, but her pace was quick and determined. Her brows knit with frustration from the moment she saw Draco. She walked straight up to him, and the cloud of Gryffindors surrounding her gave looks of shock, but little else. They soon moved along into the Hall.  
  
Hermione stood rather defiantly, he hands pressed against her hips. The corridor was now empty, and the sound of her foot tapping on the floor rang against the walls.  
  
"I can't believe you would do that to your own friend... I cannot believe-- "  
  
Wind. Pressure. Motion. In a blur, Hermione realized she was now pinned tightly against the corridor wall. There were hands on her shoulders and a face close to hers, a face she recognized, but didn't want to.  
  
"I'm furious with you!" she snapped angrily. "Not that I would have expected you to notice. You don't seem to care much about how other people feel."  
  
"Listen, wench. You don't know anything about me," spat Draco. "I knew you were a haughtily little Gyffindor from the moment I saw you on the train our first year, and I never doubted it once since. You're all alike, you are. You only think of yourselves, you think you're so righteous." He paused a moment, and the pressure of his hands on Hermione's shoulders lessened.  
  
"You aren't," he finished a few seconds later. "You aren't righteous or innocent or, dare I say it, Godly. You aren't any better than I am, and that's what you're afraid of."  
  
He ran his hands lightly down Hermione's shoulders, arms, stopping with his hands resting lightly on hers. He drew them up to his lips, kissed them gently, then dropped them. Hermione let her hands fall, looking intently at Draco. She concentrated long and hard on his face, wondering why she couldn't look away. She reached over carefully, almost frightened, and took both his hands in hers. Quickly, she pulled toward him. She brushed a light kiss across his chin, for that was all she could easily reach, then stretched up to his lips.  
  
Draco was shocked at how chaste she seemed, how innocent she really was. He regretted his words at the first touch of her hands against his. He opened his mouth to speak, but her lips were on his, drawing the words from his mouth and swallowing them whole. Suddenly all the things he'd wanted to say were gone, and he didn't mind. He was angry, but he was so filled with other emotions that anger didn't seem to matter at all.  
  
It was Hermione who broke away, and turned from him. Draco was confused. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. They certainly weren't supposed to hate each other.  
  
"That's what I'm afraid of..." Hermione said finally, and left. 


	25. Some Explainations

Harry trudged back to the common room after dinner, wondering where Hermione had gotten to. He knew she'd headed down at the same time he did, but he hadn't seen her in the Great Hall, and that worried him. It wasn't since before the S.P.E.W. incident that she'd skipped a meal. _I can't believe I'm thinking about her this much_... he thought.  
  
Hermione was in the common room when Harry arrived, and if he knew anything about her at all, he knew she was upset. He was almost scared to approach her, but he sat next to her on the sofa anyway.  
  
"Hermione? Are you ok?"  
  
"Oh, yes. Yes, I'm fine," Hermione answered quickly. She was staring rather carefully at the fire, the flames reflecting defiantly in her eyes.  
  
"Well... alright then. If you need to talk, I'll be over there," he indicated a table in the corner, "doing my essay for Snape. I could use your help, if you wouldn't mind."  
  
Hermione finally looked at him, and said simply, "My essay's in my bag, you can use it as an outline if you want. It's really too long, so you might want to condense it a little."  
  
"Hermione, tell me what's wrong," pressed Harry. "You would never let anyone copy your homework! You aren't in your right mind. D'you need to lie down?"  
  
"Harry, please, don't do this. I'm fine, really. I'm just a little upset, that's all."  
  
"About what? Hermione, we've been friends for five years, you can tell me anything. You know you can," Harry pleaded. _This isn't how it used to be..._ thought Harry sadly.  
  
"Promise not to say a word until I'm finished?" Hermione asked. Harry nodded seriously. "Promise you won't get angry and pull a Ron?" To this Harry hesitated, and then nodded.  
  
Hermione told him everything, how she and Draco had been meeting in secret, how much she still hated him even though she cared about him, and reluctantly she told him about the kiss.  
  
"Hermione!" gasped Harry. "I don't believe it!"  
  
"You promised not to speak until I was finished!" Hermione scolded. "Promise you'll never tell Ron. Never. He'd kill Draco, and he'd be furious with me. I only told you because I knew you'd understand."  
  
Harry held his tongue. What was he to say? 'I love you' didn't seem good enough anymore, but that had been his original plan. How could he compete with Malfoy, who had wealth and power and looks? He practically had a fan following of girls too stupid to see his real self.  
  
"Promise, Harry?" Hermione asked again.  
  
"Of course. I promise." 


	26. Draco's Scars

The windows were darkened and the only light filtering into the dorm was from the full moon outside. It was deathly silent, except for the even measured breathing of sleeping Griffindors. This was when Hermione knew it was safe to slip away. She grabbed her dressing gown, threw it over her shoulders and slid her slippers on as she left the dorm.

* * *

Draco walked defiantly from the Slytherin common room while it was still host to a few of his housemates. Namely Fiona, who seemed very suspicious of Draco wandering the corridors in the middle of the night.  
  
"I fancied a bath," said Draco, indicating the plush towel draped over his shoulder.  
  
"That's lucky for the rest of us," sneered Fiona.  
  
"Why?" asked Draco innocently, "It's not as though you were invited."  
  
"Don't flatter yourself, Draco," she snapped.  
  
"I thought I'd leave that up to you, love," he grinned, "you're so good at it."

* * *

Hermione had been peacefully soaking in a bath of mostly ice-white foam and tiny periwinkle bubbles, and she entertained the idea that this helped her work things out. She plunged underwater and swam the length of the bath and back, but still was at a complete loss as to why she's told Harry about Draco.  
  
"I suppose that no number of laps in this bath will help me figure that out," she mused aloud.  
  
"Hermione, I had no idea you were so beautiful when you talked to yourself. Although, I suppose being naked doesn't hurt either..."  
  
"DRACO!" Hermione shouted.  
  
"If you yell a little louder, maybe the whole school will hear you and come to investigate," Draco grinned. "Wouldn't that be interesting?"  
  
Hermione, who was now floating with only her head above water, was just mildly outraged.  
  
"Turn 'round, you," she said stiffly, treading water. "I'm getting out."  
  
"I don't see the sense in that," said Draco. "It's a large bath; I think you'll be fine. I'll stay at this end."  
  
"You must be kidding..."  
  
"Why would I do that? Honestly, I just want to talk to you."  
  
"You can talk to me while I sit over there," said Hermione, motioning to a duvet under the skylight.  
  
"Do you not trust me?" asked Draco lightly, his back turned obligingly. He looked carefully at the wall while Hermione slipped from the bath and into her dressing gown.  
  
"Of course I don't trust you," answered Hermione, sitting down lightly. "Why should I trust you? You've given me no reason to trust you. If you'd taken the blame for Blaise's accident, Draco..."  
  
"Please don't start on this again," asked Draco quietly. Hermione, now sitting and leaning against the wall, looked at Draco seriously.  
  
"I just don't understand it," she replied.  
  
"It's really very complicated," sighed Draco. "I ... I love Blaise. I do..."  
  
"I don't think you know what love is, Draco."  
  
"How do you expect me to know what love is!?" raged Draco. Hermione pulled her legs up closer to her, and shrunk back against the wall. Usually when Draco was angry, he'd shout it out and then slump back exhausted. Hermione doubted he would lose his steam this time.  
  
"I've never even experienced love!" he continued to shout. "How can you know love with a family like mine? 'Oh, how Narcissa loves her son!' say her friends! How she worries about him being at home with his father! They think we're inseparable, and so we are. Both are afraid to leave the other alone..." Draco had begun to slow his momentum, but Hermione was still afraid to interrupt him.  
  
"Blaise's father... he hates her. He resents that she lived and her brother died. He resents that she's not an heir, not a son. And she doesn't hate him for it at all... she... she just keeps trying, harder and harder, and no one cares. Except me..." he paused for breathe, his chest heaving. "She saved me once."  
  
"I didn't mean to salt the wound, Draco..."  
  
"Salt the wound..." said Draco thoughtfully. "That's what people say, isn't it? 'I didn't mean to salt the wound.' Have you ever had salt in a wound? Have you ever even sustained a wound? I doubt it, not an injury proper, anyway."  
  
Draco turned this back to her, his tight dark shirt shifting lightly with his movement. He peeled of the shirt, revealing silvery scars criss-crossed over his back. One in particular stood out so prominently that it was impossible for her to not notice. It reminded her of the scars across Harry's arms and chest, the ones she'd discovered one night while they'd been staying at The Burrow. She'd been shocked and upset, and furious when Harry finally told her they were from Dudley and his Uncle Vernon, his 'family'.  
  
She looked, transfixed and horrified. She'd always thought Harry's curse scar, all of Harry's scars, were awful, but these... these were terrifying. How had Draco survived these injuries? She's always seen him as so inhumanly frail, but now realized that he was unbelievably strong. She glided from the duvet, and walked slowly toward him. She reached her hand out and barely brushed his shoulder with fingers. He flinched visibly, but quickly relaxed.  
  
"This," Hermione said, shuddering, tracing the biggest scar with her index finger, "would certainly have severed your shoulder," her voice grew quiet, "... and killed you. What happened?"  
  
"I'm not sure. I blacked out after the first blow, to be honest. It struck across my shoulder, and hit me at the base of my neck. I didn't remember anything until four days later. Blaise nursed me," he added, pausing, and finally turning back around. His eyes were lowered, studying his thin fingers. "I wasn't exactly sure what I'd done to deserve that one."  
  
"Oh, Draco... no one could deserve that..." Hermione choked. Her eyes were bursting with tears, and she was sobbing audibly. "I don't know why you and Harry hate each other so... you've so much in common..."  
  
"I'm sure. The poor abused boys, lets put them together and make them friends. I've tried that once, remember? On the train? Potter wasn't too keen on it. But wouldn't we have been a model to follow? The veritable heir to Voldemort's throne, and his destined destroyer. Yes... that would make a pretty picture." Draco's eyes were harsh again, and he spoke in a tone tinged with malice.  
  
Hermione grabbed for his hand, and he gently pulled away, turning his face from her.  
  
"I'm sorry," she said simply.  
  
"For what?"  
  
"All the times I've ever smacked you, insulted you. Perhaps I was angry, but I should have never hit you... I didn't mean to hurt you."  
  
"Merely taps... you never hurt me," Draco answered nonchalantly. "I knew you meant no harm."  
  
"Did you?" Hermione asked lightly, reaching again for his hand again. This time, he let her take it, and pressed his fingers between hers.  
  
"Yes... of course I did. Passion, not anger. I think you never get angry, only passionate," he smiled, and reluctantly she smiled back. "I love your smile."  
  
"You used to hate it, with my big teeth," said Hermione softly.  
  
"I'm sorry I ever said that... But it's lovely now. And you hardly ever smile."  
  
"You never smile. You grin, you sneer... you never smile unless you're alone."  
  
Draco smiled again, and kissed her quickly, pulling her into his arms.  
  
"Well... I'm not alone." 


	27. Writing Home

Draco sat, his tawny eagle owl Achilles perched on his shoulder, writing a letter of apology to this mother.  
  
_Dear Mother,  
  
I'm staying at the castle for Christmas holiday. I have gotten so involved in my studies, and practicing Qudditch, that I can't imagine how much going home would interrupt. I'm deeply sorry I'm leaving you alone like this; I know you'd wanted to see me. Please give my regards to father, and pass on my apology.  
  
With my love,  
_  
_Draco_  
  
"I hope she isn't too upset..." said Draco to himself. His mother had so been looking forward to him coming home, but he just couldn't bare to go back. He tied the letter to Achilles' leg and let him loose into the cool morning air. He then wrote a quick note, sent it off with a school owl, and went down for breakfast.  
  
The Great Hall was bustling this last day before Holidays. Most students were excited for Christmas, and pleased to be headed home. Harry, on the other hand, had decided to make this Holiday a productive one. He was off to house hunt. Well, actually, he was just looking for a small flat, something he could keep up the rent for while he was at school, and still have to stay in during summer. He was certainly not keen to ever go back to the Dursleys'. When Hermione sat down at breakfast, Harry promptly asked if she'd mind helping him look.  
  
"Oh, of course not!" she said happily. "I'm so glad you're getting out of that house... those awful people..." she paused, "but how will you pay for a flat?"  
  
"My parents. They left me a fortune, I've plenty of money to rent a flat. Plus, I'm getting a job once I'm done with this year. Just on holidays, of course, but it'll keep my Gringott's vault full, and I'll be able to keep up my rent and furnish the flat and buy food and the like."  
  
"Well... I suppose you've already thought everything out, haven't you?" Hermione smiled. Just then Ron joined them at the table. He reached across Harry for the milk jug, spilling a little on the tablecloth in the process.  
  
"Hullo, how goes?" he asked. "You two staying for Christmas?"  
  
"Yes," Harry and Hermione said together, then laughed.  
  
"Harry's looking to rent a flat this summer, and wants me to help him look," Hermione finished.  
  
"Splendid!" said Ron, "Then you won't mind that I'm going home for the holidays. You won't even miss me."  
  
"Why?" asked Harry. "You always stay here."  
  
"Well, Fred and George've asked me to stay with them for a bit. I think they're looking for someone to test on, but it'll be interesting."  
  
"Be careful, Ron," scolded Hermione.  
  
"Oh, they're my brothers, Hermione, they won't hurt me too terribly bad."  
  
"I hope not," said Hermione, picking up the jug of pumpkin juice, and realizing that it was empty. "I'm going to get more juice."  
  
Hermione got up and headed to the end of the table, where a jug of juice sat completely alone and probably full. A few seconds after she got up the post came and an owl fluttered right to her seat. Harry took the letter from its leg and Ron called, "Post, Hermione! You've got a letter!"  
  
Hermione made her way back down the table and set the juice down heavily, taking the letter from Harry's hand.  
  
"Expecting something?" asked Ron slyly, but Hermione certainly had a look of surprise on her face. Harry nudged Ron and whispered to leave her alone while she read:  
  
_My father, as usual, has 'invited' me home for Christmas. I've just sent a letter to my mother to apologize because, no, I cannot make it home this year. I've told her I've got too much schoolwork and Quidditch practice to possibly come home. My father's likely to kill me over summer holidays, but at least I'm pushing it back a bit. He'd planned some massive swaree and I was supposed to meet his elite friends. Elite to him is rich, awful, and close followers of Voldemort, and I just don't hold with such things. The only think of is that I'm sure Blaise will be there, and I don't know what she'll do without me. Saving Blaise may outweigh my need to save my own skin, and I may have to go anyway, but I desperately don't want to. I feel terrible.  
_  
_Meet me tonight.  
_  
Hermione folded the note up very small and stuck it in her robe pocket.  
  
"What was it?" asked Ron. "A love note from Vicky?"  
  
"No, Ron. Viktor writes very long letters, and they're certainly not 'love notes'. It was my mum, saying she didn't mind me staying over holidays. I owled her this morning about it." Hermione hoped that Ron would stop at that.  
  
"Oh. Well, at least she said yes, right?"  
  
"Right," said Hermione. She took out a new piece of parchment, turned from Harry and Ron and wrote, 'Alright.' on it, and tied it to the owl's leg.  
  
"Thought I should thank her and tell her I love her," said Hermione simply, and left for class.


	28. Pureblood Practices

Hermione went to bed as usual, knowing well she'd promised to see Draco. She waited until all was completely silent before so much as moving the curtains on her four-poster. She looked at her reflection as she neared the door, noting that her pajamas gave her a certain innocent attractiveness, which was in turn utterly diffused by her wildly curly hair. She paused to charm away some of its frizz, then headed to the third floor.  
  
Draco, on the other hand, had made it plain that he was the going to be the last to leave the Slytherin common room, waiting until after one in the morning for Fiona to put her guitar and her song notes back into their case and head upstairs.

Draco found a strange comfort in the way she practiced every night after most of their housemates had gone to bed. She rarely paid him any attention, preferring to sit close to the fire while he sat under a lamp in the far corner, usually engrossed in a book. Tonight her song was low and lilting, a soft melody that sent a rare chill up his spine. She was uncommonly interesting when he thought of her in the sole terms of her music. Her personality offended him, she was rude and distant, but her music pressed close against him, coaxing him into a state of relaxation that he simply was not used to. Perhaps he would learn to play someday.  
  
Although he almost regretted seeing Fiona leave, he was pleased thinking about his meeting with Hermione. To him, Fiona's songs were about how he felt, his torn emotions for Hermione. She sang to herself about distance and loss, about bitter love and about endings that weren't so happy. He couldn't imagine letting Hermione know exactly how important she was to him, how much hold she had over his happiness. He couldn't even let himself care about her, really. He wondered if Fiona had written any of those songs about him, or if they were all about herself. They seemed so eerily accurate.  
  
His thoughts thoroughly occupied him on his walk to the third floor prefects' bathroom that they always met in, and he was mildly surprised when he reached it. He paused at the door, almost reluctant to go in. He fingered the silver ring on his third finger, marked with his insignia, to pass the time. When he finally pushed the door aside, Hermione was no where to be seen. He wandered in, assuming he'd finally gotten there first.  
  
"Draco..."  
  
"Oh! I didn't see you," said Draco quickly, turning. Hermione was seated directly next to the opened door. "I'm tired. I didn't mean to overlook you."  
  
Hermione stood and walked to him, coming very close indeed. He resisted the urge to move back, and instead wrapped his arms loosely around her waist. She raised her hand to his face, and noted the worried look in his eyes.  
  
"I can't leave them alone," he said eventually, looking everywhere but at Hermione.  
  
"Who?" she asked gently, both hands now on his shoulders.  
  
"My mother and Blaise. I can't leave them at home. Blaise's father is arranging for her to be married..." he said slowly. "And my father's gone on a business trip, so I'm not worried about that, but mum's ill... there's no one to care for her. I mean, we have the house elves, but they can't care for her the way I can..." His eyes were glassy with moisture, but he would have never admitted to tears, he would have never let them fall.  
  
"Blaise's father is what?"  
  
"It's something old pure-blood wizarding families do... it's as normal to them as house elves. In order to keep the blood pure, fathers would arrange to marry their children to the wealthiest witch or wizard, with the purest blood. Loads of families still do it. My parents were married that way," he paused, "Her father would only marry her to a wealthy Slytherin, that's just the way he is. He's wiled away his fortune, and now wants Blaise to make him some quick gold. Marry her off, and then collect from her."  
  
"How awful," Hermione said, almost too appalled for words. _How can civilized people do this?  
_  
"Then you don't blame me for what I'm going to do," said Draco quietly.  
  
"What is that?"  
  
"When my father brings up her situation, I'm going to ask that she marry me." Draco felt Hermione stiffen, her hands quickly moved from his shoulders. She was hugging her arms close to herself, her face a mask of disbelief.  
  
"Don't be silly. You're sixteen, you're still at school. You can't be married..."  
  
"I won't be, not until I've graduated. But it'll save her, and I owe her that much. I told you that she saved me once... Well, sometime, you should ask her about it. Then see if you think I shouldn't do this."  
  
Hermione's eyes were filled to the edge with tears, but she was angrier than upset. Passionate, as Draco would say. Angry at herself for letting him in, for trusting him, and angry that she didn't understand the situation at all.  
  
"Sometimes I hate you!" she shouted. "I hate your pure-blood, I hate Slytherin house, I hate your father. But mostly, I hate how you're something so completely opposite of what I thought you were. I hate that you're strong and compassionate, and I hate more that you love Blaise." She paused for a long time, taking in breath. Draco stood, still and quiet a few feet from her.  
  
"Sometimes I wish you were dead," she finished, throwing a cushion at him. It fell at her feet, all of her strength gone from shouting.  
  
Draco's lilting smile seemed pasted to his face, his eyes were dull and tired.  
  
"Careful what you wish for..." he said, his voice thin and quiet. His hair, which she noticed had grown rather long, (_Where has all the time gone?_) was dangling in his face, and he pushed it back with a quick flick of his hand. Without another word, he strode away.

* * *

The next morning Hermione came down to breakfast to find Ron and Harry already eating their toast. There was a sheet of parchment on her plate when she sat down, but she disregarded it as a bit of rubbish. She scanned the room with scowl.  
  
"Where's Draco?" she asked stiffly, "And Ron, what are you still doing here?"  
  
"Fred and George were coming to get me, but they can't make it today," said Ron, avoiding the subject of Draco.  
  
"Ron, where is he?" Hermione pressed.  
  
"He... er... well," Ron murmured, "Harry, why don't you..."  
  
"He's gone, Hermione. He's gone back home," Harry said lightly, going back to his toast. He really did feel horrible for her, the look on her face was wrenching.  
  
"He, what?" she asked, disbelieving.  
  
"That's his, that letter," Ron added, pointing to the parchment in front of her. Hermione picked it up immediately and tore it open.  
  
_Hermione,  
  
My mother's ill, and I've gone home to care for her. My father's gone abroad on business, and I don't expect to see him at all while I'm there. At least, that's what I hope. He'll think that I've come home behind his back, and that would certainly upset him to no end. I'll only be gone a week or so, I hope my mother will be better by then. I'm sorry I left like this. I only wrote because I didn't want you to worry. I'd hate to grant your wish.  
  
My love,  
  
Draco  
_  
"What did he say?" asked Harry. He knew it was off-base to ask, but Hermione looked awfully upset.  
  
"His mum's ill," she said, "and he's gone home." Harry nodded his head, knowing there must be more to the letter than that. He stood, arbitrarily putting his hand on Hermione's shoulder. He gave it the tiniest of squeezes before he walked away, hoping she knew that all he wanted in the world was to comfort her.


	29. Tragedy at the Malfoy Manor

That day was long and hard. Every double class with Slytherin plagued Hermione with thoughts of Draco, worries that his father would come home early, or that his mother's illness would worsen. During Ancient Runes she found herself in tears over not knowing if he'd made it home safely. She told her professor that dust from one of the old volumes had gotten in her eye, and rushed from the room.  
  
Hermione hid in Moaning Myrtle's lavatory for the rest of her morning classes. Granted, she studied while she was there, but it was the first time she'd ever intentionally skived off classes, and she felt rather awful for it. That did not, however, outweigh the way she felt toward Draco. The uncertainty was terrible.  
  
When the bell finally sounded and she could hear the other students filing down for lunch, Hermione slipped out of the bathroom and up to her dorm. _What I really need_, she thought, _is more sleep_. She climbed onto her bed, but going to sleep was a constant game of cat and mouse. Sleep kept running off in her mind, and as much as she tired to catch it, it would still elude her. She dozed lightly for a few minutes, then resigned herself to wandering about the common room.  
  
As the end of lunch grew near, Hermione was finally able to sit and make some semblance of relaxation. She picked up the Daily Prophet and read until something caught her eye.  
  
**—Tragedy at the Malfoy Manor—  
**  
_The glorious Malfoy estate was the site of much commotion today as medi- wizards tried furiously to attend to an ailing Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy and her young son, Draco. The Malfoy Manor is owned by Lucius Malfoy, a 43 year old wizard with strong political and financial ties in the Ministry. He was away on business when his wife fell horribly ill, but returned when he heard his son had left school to care for her.  
  
"Draco is such a caring boy, he and his mother are very close," Mr. Malfoy was quoted. "He had planned to catch up with schoolwork on holidays, but returned to watch over Narcissa."  
  
Unfortunately, upon young Mr. Malfoy's arrival home, he also became ill, and suffered a fall while still attempting to care for his mother. While rushing from his bedroom in a wing upstairs, he tumbled down the Manor's impressive fifty-one stair Grand Staircase. He has said, "I simply caught my foot on a rug. I was feverish, and wasn't paying careful enough attention." His shouts alerted a house elf, who contacted the medi-wizards. Mr. Malfoy arrived at the scene shortly after his son's fall, and was tending him when the medics arrived.  
  
"He's strong-willed. His own illness did not keep him from attending to his mother," stated Mr. Malfoy about his son's accident.  
  
Mrs. Malfoy is in St. Mungo's Hospital for further treatment, and most of young Mr. Malfoy's injuries were healed upon arrival to the hospital. He's expected to return to the Manor soon with his father, who said he is pleased to have his son home again.  
_  
Hermione slammed the paper down on an end table, and stood to pace the room.  
  
"Injured in a fall, my arse!" she fumed. "That awful, disgusting, worthless Lucius Malfoy... 'pleased to have his son home', I'm sure he is. With Draco's mother ill, there's no one for him to terrorize!"  
  
She immediately wrote a letter to Draco, asking if he and his mother were alright, and by the way, how was Blaise. Although she would have never admitted it, she knew that Draco was trying to do the right thing. It was just so painful to think that he cared for her, but couldn't be with her. She sent the letter by school owl to St. Mungo's, with strict instructions to only give it to Draco when his father had gone. The owl seemed to understand, so she opened the window and let him fly out.

* * *

The time between when Hermione sent the letter, and the time when Draco sent one back was perhaps the most difficult time of her life. She paced, she fidgeted, she was absent and distant. Harry was torn between asking her about it, and just standing aside. He knew she'd be too angry and upset to talk, but he wanted in some way to help her. He just didn't know how. So instead of speaking to her, holding her, or ignoring her, he took a new direction. When she'd pace, he'd pace. When she'd sit, he'd sit next to her. When she'd talk, he'd talk back. And that was all, because he was otherwise totally unsure what to do.  
  
On the evening of the second day after she'd sent her letter, Hermione broke down. In the middle of pacing the common room floor, she fell to her knees in tears. Harry simply sat next to her while she cried, and eventually, she wrapped her arms around him, pressing her wet face against his shoulder.  
  
"Oh, Harry... What am I going to do?"  
  
"What can you do?" he asked. "Fight Lucius? Are you going to take on someone with his power?"  
  
"Of course not," she sighed. "I have no idea how I can help."  
  
"I have an idea, alright? We'll wait for his letter, find out how long he's at St. Mungo's, then take it from there."  
  
"How will that help?"  
  
"You'll see..."  
  
Hermione was confused, and that was a feeling she disliked above most others, but she trusted Harry.  
  
"The key is patience," he said quietly. "We just have to wait." 


	30. Avada Kadavra

Harry stayed with Hermione as much as he could stand, but after re-reading the article fourteen times, each time nearly in tears, he could stand it no longer. He wandered up to his dormitory and flopped down onto his bed with a book. He relaxed for a good quarter of an hour before he heard anything from Hermione.  
  
"Harry!" shouted she, her voice sounding the happiest he'd heard it that day. He came quickly down the stairs, and skidded into the common room.  
  
"Where's the fire?" he asked jokingly.  
  
Hermione brandished a scrap of parchment, which Harry knew at once to be Draco's return letter.  
  
"Well? Read it to me."  
  
_My darling_ "Hermione," she read, _I miss you_, and "I'm glad to hear from you so soon. My father's just gone home, he'll be returning shortly with a carriage. Mother and I are in no condition to Floo anywhere, or else I would have snuck away immediately. She's still very ill, but father's managed to convince them to send her home, the bastard. I am alright, I suppose. My leg is splinted, and doesn't hurt, but seems to have been broken. I can walk on it, though." _I'll make this as brief as I can. I know father will kill me when we get home, and I want you to know before I die that I care about you very much._ _Please look out for Blaise, she needs you more than I.  
  
My love,  
_  
"Draco," she finished, awkwardly. Some things she just needed to keep from Harry...  
  
"Is that it?" asked Harry. "A broken leg? No, 'Oh God, please come save me?' or anything like that?"  
  
"No, Harry."  
  
"Disappointing," he sighed. "But, we'd better get going. We have nearly no time at all."  
  
"No time to do what?"  
  
"Get to the Malfoy Manor," answered Harry. He and Hermione went on a rampage around the common room, gathering their wands, cloaks, shoes, the Marauder's Map, and Harry's Invisibility Cloak. Harry also took some gold from his trunk, and stowed it deep in his robe pocket, so as not to loose it.  
  
"Grab a little Muggle money," cautioned Harry.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Oh, just in case."  
  
He and Hermione, under the Invisibility Cloak, hurried through the school, out through Honeyduke's cellar, and to Hogmeade's train station. Hermione wasn't entirely sure where the Manor was, but she knew that to the untrained eye is resembled a derelict old castle, and was right outside a Muggle town near London. Hermione seemed to remember the name Filgrave, so when the train came close, they got off, took a taxi (thanks to Hermione's Muggle money), and asked the first man, in the first pub, whether there was an old castle nearby.  
  
"Castle, ye say?" he asked.  
  
"Erm... yes, sir," said Harry respectfully.  
  
"Aye, there's one up top a' the hill outta town. Follow the main road out through the wood. If ye think ye're lost, ye'll know ye're on the righ' track. Just keep a'goin'."  
  
"Thank you, sir."  
  
It was a long walk, but they made it quickly, running under the Invisibility cloak.  
  
"What's that sound?" asked Hermione.  
  
"Sounds like... horses. It's the Malfoy's carriage, coming that way," Harry answered, pointing in the direction they were headed. Through the tall, thick trees Harry could see a turret, which he was sure belonged to the Manor. "This way!"  
  
They stood, waiting silently behind a tree as Lucius dismissed the driver of the coach, and he, Narcissa and Draco walked toward the dilapidated castle. Lucius threw open the front drawbridge with a flick of his wand, and inside there was a grand doorway. He unlocked the door and disappeared.  
  
"Now's our chance," whispered Harry, and he and Hermione made a mad run for the door, slipping in just before Draco shut it.  
  
Lucius sat heavily in an armchair, and ignited a fire with his wand.  
  
"Fetch me a drink, Draco," he said, his tone condescending. Draco limped on his broken leg out of the room as Lucius watched and laughed. Hermione and Harry followed, removing the Cloak once they reached the dark hall.  
  
"Draco," whispered Hermione quietly. "Harry and I are here."  
  
"I don't know how you managed it, but I congratulate you. What's your plan?"  
  
"I hadn't thought that far," said Harry. "Just thought we'd sneak out a back way."  
  
"And leave my mother?" snapped Draco, "You're out of you mind, Potter. Besides... there is no 'back way'."  
  
"We'll have to do it the old-fashioned way," said Hermione seriously.  
  
"How's that?"  
  
"Blast our way out," she answered.  
  
"That's my girl," smiled Draco. "Alright, I'll take the bastard his drink, and you get my mother, Hermione, and Potter, you get them out. I'll handle my father."  
  
Draco filled a thick tumbler with bourbon and Firewhiskey and stalked back into the room.  
  
"What took you so— Oh... I see you have friends. Think this will all be a big party, do you?" Lucius asked, his voice rising with rage.  
  
Draco threw the glass in his father's face, the alcohol stunning him for a moment.  
  
"It's time you got what's been coming to you, boy," Lucius snapped furiously, raising his wand into the air.  
  
"Lucius, no," said Narcissa, breaking free of Harry and Hermione and stepping in front of Draco. Her voice was firm, but her body was shaking. She was obviously still very sick, and frightened for her life.  
  
"Get away, you stupid woman," he said, blasting her away with his wand. She flew across the room, hitting the opposite wall heavily and falling to the floor with a thud.  
  
"Mother, no!" Draco screamed, running to his mother and picking her up into his arms. Her eyes were closed, her face pale, and her body was light but limp. "Please hold on, mum. Please don't die... I love you."  
  
"You mother didn't even want you, boy," spat Lucius. "She didn't want children, she didn't want to be married... but the Dark Lord prevailed in the end, as he always does. 'I must have an heir.' he said, and eventually, your mother conceded. He has not yet achieved immortality, and if he should die, there must be someone to take his place. Of course, should I not be able to fill the position, it must surely be my son..." his voice was venomous; his eyes were filled purely with hatred. Draco put his mother's body down and stepped back.  
  
"No... no, that can't be," stuttered Draco, nearly too stunned for words. How many times had he joked about that, and now it was all falling into place. _It can't be true_, he thought. But didn't that explain so many things? Especially his father's hatred of him. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named trusted Lucius's mortality so little that he instructed him to have a son, one to carry on should he become too old, or die.  
  
"But, of course, I never intended to let you get old enough to replace me..." continued Lucius, almost absently. "And I was sure this time it would kill you. Imagine how upset I was to hear of your accident, Draco."  
  
"Don't taunt him like that!" shouted Hermione suddenly. "Don't even pretend for a moment that you weren't there the whole time, that you didn't cause every moment of pain he's ever experienced, you bastard!"  
  
"Silence, you filthy little mudblood!" bellowed Lucius. "I would have liked to have killed you the moment I laid eyes on you, but I've waited. I think this is long enough..."  
  
There was a vibrant flash of green light, the words _'Avada Kadavra'_ rang through the empty room. Then all fell silent. Draco was sitting on the floor, confused and shocked. His eyes were filled with tears.  
  
"Potter, what did you do?" he cried, looking over his father's body. It was as unmarked and peaceful as though he'd been sleeping, except for the look of extreme horror on his face.  
  
"Draco... Harry didn't do that," said Hermione quietly, putting her hand on his shoulder. "You did."  
  
"No!" Draco shouted, ripping himself away from her. "I wouldn't, I'm not like him!"  
  
He was more furious then Hermione could have ever imagined him. His eyes were wide and wild and his hair was flying as he turned, so utterly confused.  
  
"Draco, your mum," interrupted Harry, who was now on the floor next to Narcissa. "I don't know if she'll make it."  
  
"Harry's right, we can't hang around here, we have to get her to a doctor or something," said Hermione. She stunned herself with her own calmness as she put her hand on Draco's arm and led him from the room. He seemed to diminish with her touch, becoming more calm. Harry picked Narcissa up in his arms and began to walk with them.  
  
"No, Potter... erm, Harry. Let me," said Draco quietly, taking his mother into his arms. He was surprised by how light and tiny she was, how childlike she looked. He'd never been more worried about her.  
  
"I don't know where to take her," he said. "After what happened to my father, we can't take her to St. Mungo's, or anywhere else connected with the Ministry. We'd have to explain what happened, and I'm not sure what to say."  
  
"Dumbledore," said Harry thoughtfully. "We'll take her to Dumbledore. Madam Pomfrey can look her over, and Dumbledore can help us figure out what to do."  
  
"Great idea, except for a few small flaws," said Draco sarcastically. "How do we get on the train, through Hogsmeade, and into the castle with my mother like this?"  
  
"Easy," said Harry, taking his invisibility cloak out from under his robes. It was a pinch to let Draco know about it, but Harry knew it was worth it. He might be saving a life.  
  
"You get under the cloak, and Hermione and I will walk on either side, so no one accidentally knocks you over or trods on you."  
  
"If I didn't hate you so much, I say that's bloody brilliant," said Draco approvingly. 


	31. Narcissa

After sneaking through the school and trying a barrage of potential Honeyduke's candy passwords (finally succeeding with _Tooth-Flossing String Mints_), Draco, Hermione, and Harry safely made it to Dumbledore's office with Narcissa.  
  
"Professor," said Draco, pulling the invisibility cloak off and handing it to Harry.  
  
"I know, Draco," Dumbledore interrupted gravely. "We have no time, we have to get her to St. Mungo's."  
  
"How did you know?" Harry asked quickly.  
  
"I am much more than a foolish old man, Harry," sighed Dumbledore. "And you know that I do not need a cloak to become invisible. Imagine the other things about me that you may not know. But there's no time for that now. We must tend to your mother, Draco."  
  
"We can't take her to St. Mungo's, Professor. They'll ask us what happened... I can't... I don't... I don't want to go to Azkaban," he stuttered. Today, more than any other day in his life, Draco was truly afraid.  
  
"Nonsense. People don't go to Azkaban for defending themselves."  
  
"But, I —"  
  
"Of course, you'll have a hearing, but don't worry. Just tell the truth," said Dumbledore, walking to a portrait on the wall, pushing it aside, and pulling out an old tin can, "Tell them that you came home from St. Mungo's and your parents had an argument. Lucius threatened to kill your mother, you cursed him with the first thing you thought of. It was all just a horrible accident. Harry and Hermione witnessed the entire ordeal, they'd snuck away to visit you on your first day home from the hospital."  
  
He held the can in his left hand, and performed a spell on it with his wand, clutched delicately in this right hand.  
  
"Grab on," Dumbledore said, holding out the can, "It's a Portkey. Draco, keep a tight grip on your mother. Wouldn't want to lose her, would we?"  
  
Harry was, at this point, rather confused. Dumbledore was willing to lie to the ministry to save Draco from going to Azkaban? And he himself was an accessory to murder, along with Hermione. _I should have known this was going to be a bad day from the moment I got out of bed_, thought Harry as he felt that familiar hook latch on behind his navel, and the world became a blur.  
  
Everything came sharply back into focus in a very sparsely, but nicely, furnished office, where a cheerful but surprised healer sat behind her desk.  
  
"Lovely to see you again, Albus, love," she said brightly. "You've brought guests."

"Patients, actually. I was hoping you could do some of your magic, so to speak," answered Dumbledore.  
  
"I assume you mean the lovely young lady hanging there," she said, still a smile on her face. She was looking at pointedly at Narcissa. Dumbledore nodded. "Well, bang her down on the sofa, then," she said, twirling her wand and producing a brown leather couch. "Go on, lad."  
  
Draco laid Narcissa down very carefully, and took a tiny step back. He obviously wanted to stay close.  
  
"Scatter off then, you all. I need my work space, darlings," said the cheerful witch.  
  
"Else, you don't know how much I appreciate this," Dumbledore said sincerely.  
  
"'Course I do," the witch, Else, answered happily. "Now you all leave me be. You too, Albus, I'd like some space. I don't mind if you put some chairs out in the entry there, if you'd like to sit down."  
  
The four of them walked out into the small anti-chamber entryway, Dumbledore conjured them each up a chair and they sat to wait. Draco sat with his head on his knees, one hand on either temple.  
  
"Are you alright, Mr. Malfoy?"  
  
"Please don't call me that. Draco is fine with me, sir," said Draco quietly.  
  
"Would you like me to give you a headache cure, Draco?" asked Dumbledore asked politely, leaning a bit closer to him. "You look as though you might need one."  
  
"Actually... erm... no. Thank you." Draco sat back in the chair, trying to relax. He dropped his arms to the side of the chair, and Hermione, sitting next to him, grasped one of his hands briefly in hers and then let it go. Harry turned his head quickly away, looking toward the healer's doorway. He could see a light flashing behind the frosted glass door.  
  
Else slipped her head out the door, her face was fixed in a stiff smile.  
  
"Erm, Albus, love, could you come in here for a moment? I need to talk to you," Else said, her voice a mask of cheerfulness. Dumbledore immediately disappeared through the door.  
  
Draco stood and pressed his face against the glass, trying desperately to see through the frost. Hermione shifted in her chair, wanting badly to get up and comfort him, but knowing she couldn't. She hugged Harry instead, even though by that time he felt rather numb to the whole situation. He managed to pat her on the back before writhing out of her grasp. He looked at Draco, studying the side of his face, which was the only part of him Harry could manage to focus on. He'd begun to feel sorry for Draco, and almost counted himself lucky to have been too small to remember his parents' deaths. The whole situation brought back terrible memories for him, though. Draco's pain was a perfect mirror of himself, almost a year earlier. Losing Sirius had been worse than losing a parent... Sirius was not only a guardian, but a friend. It felt like losing his father all over again. He looked away, not wanting to think about it any longer. It made Draco feel too real, and much too close.  
  
Draco could see figures moving behind the door, but couldn't make out what was happening. All he knew was that the movements were rushed and urgent, and that didn't sit well with him at all. He moved back to his chair, and resumed looking at his feet, which he often did when he felt unsettled.  
  
The door opened a crack, and Dumbledore's thin nose and long white beard could be seen.  
  
"Draco," said Dumbledore, and he immediately stood and hurried to the door. "Come in here, please," he said, just before shutting the door behind Draco.  
  
"I wonder what's happened?" asked Hermione, speaking for the first time in a while.  
  
"Dunno," answered Harry, unable to tell her that he expected the worst.  
  
Draco walked through the door quickly, and within seconds was by his mother's side.  
  
"She's barely awake, but she can hear you if you want to talk to her," Else said, her voice no longer happy. "I don't know if she'll respond, though."  
  
"I can wait till she comes out of it," Draco offered cautiously.  
  
"She won't come out of it, darling," Else said quietly, putting a hand on his shoulder. "She hasn't got much longer. Talk to her while you can."  
  
"We'll be outside if you need anything," Dumbledore said, giving Draco an encouraging sort of nod. Draco nodded back, and sat lightly on the sofa by his mother.  
  
"Mum, can you hear me?"  
  
"Yes, I can hear you," Narcissa answered weakly.  
  
"I'm sorry this happened, mum, and I'm sorry we went through all this."  
  
"Not your fault, love."  
  
"Mum... I love you," he said, struggling with the words, and the thought that he may never say them to her again.  
  
Narcissa smiled lightly, the corners of her mouth turning up in a way that told Draco she was really pleased. He smiled back.  
  
"I love you too, sweetheart," she said, still smiling. She laid her head down again, and closed her eyes. Draco took her hands in his and sat with her so long that he was unsure of what day it was, until her grip on his hands went limp and her fingers grew cool. He folded her hands together on her stomach, and brushed a gold strand of hair from her face and without a look back, he left the room.  
  
"She's dead," he said quietly to Dumbledore, who nodded and put a hand on Draco's shoulder. His expression said that he wanted very much to say something comforting, but Draco turned away before giving him the chance.  
  
"I want to go home," he said simply to Hermione, and then walked away down the corridor. She followed after him, catching up easily.  
  
"You have a broken leg. Were you going to walk? Go back, Dumbledore can get you a Portkey home," she said, her voice almost pleading. Suddenly he turned around, his eyes shining and empty, his face pale as parchment. Immediately Hermione reached out to him, and he fell into her arms.  
  
"Just get me away from here," he said, the sounds muffled by her shoulder.


	32. Tears

For Hermione, the hardest part of the next few hours was watching Draco suffer. He did not cry, but his eyes were glazed and tired, and he stood stooped over from the day's exhaustion.  
  
Dumbledore, thankfully, did not send him home.  
  
"A young man in his condition needs some one to take care of him," Dumbledore said, his voice a strange mixture of empathy and tension. "Ms. Granger, would you take him to his dorm. I think he has it mostly to himself, but would you mind clearing the other students out. I think he needs his rest."  
  
"Of course, Professor," Hermione answered, shocked that Dumbledore would allow her in the Slytherin common room. She walked Draco there, not really knowing where she was going. He leaned heavily on her shoulder, the weight of the day seeming to press upon him, making his thin shoulders burdened and slumped.  
  
He walked through the common room as though in a daze, laying his hand on the wall to steady himself. Hermione followed him up to his dorm, helped him into a soft white shirt, and insisted he go to bed. He crawled onto the covers, seeming to her so small and lost in the blankets' folds of black and green. She sat on the bed across from his and looked at him, his eyes turned to the ceiling, his face barely lit by the bedside light.  
  
"Come here," he said, his voice tight and drawn. Hermione came closer, almost wary of him. "Sit with me," he said when she reached his side, and she had no desire to tell him no. He looked especially frail in the candle light, and she knew how much he needed her.  
  
She climbed onto the bed next to him, twining her fingers with his. His head fell heavily onto her shoulder, his chest heaving with silent sobs.  
  
"She didn't deserve that," he said, his voice choked with the sound of tears.  
  
"No, no she didn't," Hermione whispered, trying to not cry as well. His voice made her heart break.  
  
"I still can't believe any of this... I can't believe I did that. I sunk to his level. I never thought of myself... as the sort of person who could do something like that," he cried. He struggled almost physically with his own thoughts, the idea that he was the same as his father.  
  
Hermione wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly.  
  
"I never thought of you as the sort of person to cry," she answered softly. "We're all wrong sometimes."  
  
Draco felt enraged, confused, betrayed, and let out his emotions the only way he knew. Grabbing Hermione roughly by both shoulders, he kissed her. It was the most loving, angry, passionate kiss she could have ever imagined, and it left her reeling. It was the most bizarre feeling she'd ever experienced; a sort of infusion of all the horrid things he must have been feeling, all expressed as a passion. She looked at him, his faced streaked and his eyes shinning with tears, and knew that the only thing she could do for him now was to kiss him back. 


	33. Trinkets and Momentos

The next few days passed quickly for Draco, and years from then when he'd look back on it, the entire holiday season would be little more than a painful blur. A lawyer visited him on that twenty-fourth of December, informing him that he was the sole heir of his parents' estate, save a few small things his mother had left to one of her cousins who was by then long dead.  
  
Dumbledore sent Draco to the Manor by Floo that afternoon, where he gathered up a few important things before sending most of his father's belongings off to auction. He saved his mother's things: her dresses and robes neatly pressed and hung in her wardrobe, her photos tucked in a small box under her bed, her jewelry stowed in a grand mahogany case on her vanity. This he opened, and rummaged through in search of something very special. He found it at the bottom of the chest, wrapped in a very old sheet of parchment. When he unwrapped the bundle a small, glittering gold chain rolled out into his hand. He turned it over, the metal warm against the tips of his fingers. He held the necklace up to the window, watching the red, teardrop-shaped garnet glow in the light. This was the piece that had been closest to his mother's heart, the necklace given to her by her mother for her eighteenth birthday.  
  
"Her last birthday before marrying him," thought Draco aloud, putting the fragile chain back in the parchment wrap and placing it in his breast pocket. From his hip pocket her removed a small glass container of Floo powder, and lit a fire in the hearth. He then retreated a chest of things that he thought he should keep with him, and stepped into the fire.  
  
He emerged shortly thereafter in Dumbledore's office, and without a word he removed a parcel from the chest and handed it to the Headmaster.  
  
"Thought you might find these things of interest," Draco said while resealing the chest. Dumbledore opened the parcel to find within a list, penned by Lucius Malfoy, of some of his 'associates' who had been in Voldemort's highest favor. Underneath it was a letter from Peter Pettigrew, dated before Draco's birth, explaining his importance to Voldemort's 'cause'. Dumbledore's face grew very grave.  
  
"His study was full of letters and packages, some of them still unopened, all very heavily cursed. Only someone with Malfoy blood can enter, so I left it unlocked," said Draco, handing Dumbledore a small vial. "My blood," he answered simply. "There's a map to the manor in that parcel, you may want to take a look around. Don't disrupt anything, though."  
  
"I'll be sure not to, Draco," Dumbledore answered, a small smile crossing his face. "You look tired. Would you like me to have some food sent to your dorm?"  
  
"I'd like that very much, Professor," Draco said wearily. He heaved the chest up into his arms, and headed for the door.  
  
"Let me help you with that," the Headmaster said, his eyes showing his concern. He bewitched the chest to be little heavier than a feather, and Draco tugged it along after him.


	34. Gifts

Hermione had always loved Christmas. As a child, her parents had always gone above and beyond the normal holiday cheer. They got the biggest tree, the best decorations, and that most fantastic presents. More than that, though, Hermione loved the feeling of being close to her mother and father.  
  
She'd been knitting furiously in her spare time, ever since school started. She'd improved vastly in the last year, and could now knit for hours without dropping a single stitch. She'd knitted a sage green jumper for her father, the sort with cuffed sleeves that he loved so much, and for her mother, an ice blue wrap to go with her favorite blue dress.  
  
"Perfect," she said, wrapping her father's jumper and tying a dark green bow at one end of the package. "Just one more," she thought aloud, picking up a tightly wrapped package covered in mistletoe paper.

* * *

"Happy Christmas, Blaise," Draco said, hiding the sadness in his voice behind feigned joy. "I've got something for you. "  
  
He sat down next to her, pushing away the remnants of a cracker she'd pulled with Fiona moments earlier.  
  
"Oh," he said, as though he'd only just noticed Fiona there. "Happy Christmas to you, too. Didn't get you a present, though."  
  
"Don't worry," answered Fiona, smiling in spite of herself. "I didn't get you one, either."  
  
"Anyway, here," he said, pushing the tiny package across the table. Blaise carefully peeled away the paper, revealing a pair of onyx earrings, shining in the firelight like diamonds.  
  
"I can't believe your mum parted with them!" Blaise said excitedly. "She's knows I've always loved these."  
  
"Blaise... mum's dead," he said quietly. "I'm sorry... I should have told you sooner."  
  
"Oh, my God," she gasped.  
  
"She would have wanted you to have them. She thought of you as her own daughter."  
  
"I... thank you," Blaise said, her voice stiff, struggling with emotion. She turned her face away from Draco, brushing the tears from her face. "Excuse me."  
  
She rushed from the room and disappeared up the stair to her dorm.  
  
"She didn't take it quite as well as I'd hoped," he sighed, turning to Fiona.  
  
"Draco... I'm sorry," she said, and for the first time she saw Draco as a person, and not an empty shell of one.  
  
"Why? Why are you sorry?," he asked, "And don't say that it's because you know how I feel, because you don't... she was all I had."  
  
"Draco, my father died when I was young... when I needed him most. That left me with only my mother, and that made me feel alone." She paused, trying to look in his eyes. He turned away from her.  
  
"But I wasn't alone, and neither are you. You have Blaise, Snape, Dumbledore, and hell... you've even got me," she added reluctantly. "You aren't alone."  
  
"Maybe you're right..." he said thoughtfully, still doubting her. His thoughts kept drifting to the Gryffindor common room, where Hermione was probably sitting alone, reading a book. _I have Hermione,_ he thought.  
  
"Thanks, Fiona," he said finally. "Would you give this to Blaise?" he asked, fishing a folded piece of parchment from his robe pocket.  
  
Fiona took the parchment, looking at it curiously.  
  
"A page from my mother's diary. She was writing about Blaise. I think it'll help her."  
  
Fiona smiled, tucking the parchment gently into her own pocket.  
  
"Of course," she said, leaving Draco standing alone in the common room. To occupy his time, he owled Hermione, asking her to meet him in their 'usual place'. _God save us if we ever need to meet during the day, when there might actually be someone in there._  
  
Hermione sat patiently, the mistletoe wrapped package lying next to her.  
  
"What's in the box?" Draco asked, shutting the door behind him.  
  
"Why don't you open it and find out," she answered smartly. Draco ripped away the paper and opened the box.  
  
"I didn't spend as much time on it as my fathers," she rushed, checking Draco's expression, "but I thought it suited you."  
  
He held up the gift, looking at it appreciatively. It was a black jumper. It was knitted with tiny stitches, almost thin enough to see through. Draco pulled it on, the slim green pinstripes matching nicely to his dark green trousers.  
  
"I suppose I got the arms a bit too long," Hermione said, fussing over the sleeves, which totally covered his hands.  
  
"No... it's perfect," Draco said, cuffing the sleeves and reaching into his pocket. "I've got something for you as well," he said, holding out a small box wrapped in shiny gold foil.  
  
"I didn't make it, and it isn't even new, but I thought it suited you better than anything else I could have given you."  
  
Hermione carefully opened the box, and removed from it a sparkling gold chain. On the chain was the red, teardrop-shaped garnet that his mother had loved so much.  
  
"It was my mum's, it was her favourite. My grandmum gave it to her just before she married my father... it was very special to her."  
  
"Oh, Draco... I love it. Thank you."  
  
He stood just in front of her, the evening light shining in on them from the skylight. To him she was quite a sight to behold, resplendent in her quiet, dignified way. He loved her, he realized in that moment. It was like a pinprick of light in the darkness he'd been feeling.  
  
"Thank you, Hermione," he said, drawing her up into his arms. "Thank you." 


	35. Assumptions

Even after his startling realization about Hermione, it was harder for Draco to walk with her into the Great Hall than for him to take a stand to his father.  
  
"I can't do it," he said, standing stiffly outside the doors.  
  
"Don't be absurd. It's Christmas, and there's only one table, it'll be fine that we sit together."  
  
"I know, but... It just isn't done this way."  
  
"D_a_mn how it's done, then," Hermione said with a smile. She firmly grabbed his hand, covered again by the long sleeve of his jumper, and dragged him into the hall.  
  
"Hello, Harry," she said, approaching the table. "How's your day been?"  
  
"Decent," he answered. He was wearing a Weasley jumper in a nice dark red, and had a pair of gloves and a scarf folded in his lap. "Thanks for the present, it matches Mrs. Weasley's perfectly."  
  
"Hmm... that's quite a coincidence," Hermione said, grinning. She'd owled Mrs. Weasley and asked that their presents match. Molly had thought it was a lovely idea.  
  
"Draco's sitting with us today," she added.  
  
"Hm. Well... can't stop him, can I?" Harry replied. "Pass the potatoes, Malfoy?"  
  
Draco picked up the huge golden bowl. "It's Draco," he said shortly.  
  
"Yes, I'm aware of that," Harry answered stiffly, plopping a great dollop of mash on his plate.

Days passed after that fateful Christmas, that night Harry and Draco had promised Hermione a truce between them. Neither even half-way believed they would hold true to their pledge, but both vowed to never tell her about it.  
  
The school term started once again, and with the insurgence of the rest of the school on the castle, Hermione and Draco's time together was cut short. Ron and Ginny were back from their holiday with Fred and George, and were slightly worn for the wear, but seemed happy.  
  
"I think I'm never going to see Giselle again," Ron said, his voice free of regret.  
  
"Why?" Harry asked.  
  
"Because, she's off and gotten engaged to that Quidditch bloke. To h_e_ll with her then, I say," he answered, gazing around the Great Hall that Tuesday morning.  
  
"A few well played matches and you could get a Hogwarts girl," Harry said smiling. "They just need to notice you. Maybe if you make the winning play, it'll get you some attention?"  
  
"Never worked for you, though, did it?" Ron joked.  
  
The two boys scuffled over their toast, and it was then that Hermione slumped down next to Harry and stole a bit of his.  
  
"Something wrong?" he asked, turning to her.  
  
"No, nothing. Just tired, I suppose."  
  
"You sure? This hasn't got anything to do with... _you-know-who_, has it?"  
  
"Lord no! Why would Volde-- oh... you mean the other... ah." She paused. "This is stupid, we can't go on talking about him like this. You've got to tell Ron."  
  
"I've got to tell him?" Harry asked incredulously. "This is your disaster. You tell him."  
  
"I think I'll wait for a more opportune moment, shall I?"

"I think that's a good idea," Harry said, looking at Ron. He was thumbing through a notebook of old letters. "I think it's not a good time for him right now."

* * *

Hermione slumped down into a desk in Transfiguration, the desk directly next to Ron's, and touched his shoulder.  
  
"Erm... Ron? Can I talk to you a moment?"  
  
"You are talking to me," he said, stuffing a pile of papers into his bag.  
  
"I mean that I have something to say..."  
  
"You going to tell me about your_ secret_ _affair_?"  
  
"My what?" Hermione asked, shocked.  
  
"With Malfoy. Oh, don't look at me like that. I'm not stupid, you know."  
  
"No, but you certainly aren't observant!" she snapped back. She was so shocked, and more than that, she felt betrayed. _Harry must have told him._ "How did you know?"  
  
"How didn't I? I've known since before I left for holiday. It's the way you look at him... the way he looks back. And the way Harry talks about the two of you... I know that he knows."  
  
"Oh, of course he knows. I thought he'd take it well and you'd go mad." She paused, her faced showing her confusion. "I hate it when I'm wrong..."  
  
"Well...you know what happens when you assume..." Ron said, a smile on his face.


	36. Ginny's Letter

The friction in the trio had greatly decreased since Hermione had 'come clean,' so to speak, with Ron. There was a reestablished sense of trust, something Harry especially had found so lacking over holidays.

"I just hope she doesn't expect us to let him sit with us during breaks, and I hope he doesn't expect her to help _him_ with his homework instead of _us_," Ron said as he and Harry made their way up to their dormitory that night. "Because I'll give them both a piece of my mind."

"Spare them, Ron. You haven't got that much to lose," Harry retorted.

"Harhar. Very funny. Aren't you just the ray of sunshine today?"

"I try my best," Harry answered. He promptly drew the curtains round his bed and pretended to be asleep.

He knew that no matter what he did, Hermione was firmly out of his grasp. He didn't even need to see the two of them together to know how much she adored Draco. She loved him in ways she could have never felt for Harry, and after weeks of thought he knew that. But he would not accept it lying down. _Oh, no. I'll stand up and accept it,_ he thought sullenly, knowing very well that standing between them would only make Hermione unhappy. _Something I'm skilled at,_ he sighed.

"You still up. mate?" Ron whispered nearly an hour after Harry had gone to bed.

"No," he answered quietly, and went to sleep.

* * *

"So you told Ron?" Ginny asked, perched on the edge of her bed listening to Hermione.

"I did. And he... well, he didn't mind at all."

"Of course not. He knew. He'd ask me about it, thinking that you'd told me. I said, 'If she's told anyone anything, its Harry. And he won't tell you.' He was totally close-lipped about it. Ron was furious. He had to work it out all on his own. Poor ickle thing."

"So... Harry didn't tell him, really, then?" Hermione asked. "Ron said he didn't... but I wasn't sure."

"No, he wouldn't tell him a thing," Ginny answered. "You're lucky to have him, you know," she added, a tinge of whimsy in her voice.

"You still fancy him, then?" Hermione asked carefully. They were still on thin ice when it came to discussing Harry like that.

"Oh... no... I mean... I sort of think that Ravenclaw prefect, the dark-haired one, is nice, but I'm not really looking. Suppose I'll settle in on my schoolwork and all that."

"Ginny... you needn't lie, you know. There's no dark-haired Ravenclaw prefect. He's a Hufflepuff, and he's dull, and you'd never like him. And you hate your schoolwork except Care of Magic Creatures and Herbology."

"Leave me alone about him, alright? I just... he hates me. I don't want to talk about it," Ginny sighed, crawling to the center of her bed and pulling the curtain.

"Goodnight," she said with finality, and Hermione left for her own dorm.

When Hermione had gone, Ginny pulled a leather-bound book from under her pillow. She opened it, and fumbled for her wand in the dark, casting Lumos so she could find her quill. She began to furiously scribble, her normally large handwritting cramping into splintered slants.

_Harry,_ she wrote, wanting to add 'dearest,' or 'my darling,' but shying away from it.

_Very simply put, I want you to know that I care about you. I don't expect anything in return. Although, it wouldn't hurt to talk to me once in a while, would it?_

_Ginny_

She re-read the note carefully and ripped the page from her journal. She left it, folded once, on her bed as she dug through her trunk, unable to see the dark, hard letters sinking into the paper. She unceremoniously stuffed the parchment into an envelope and put it in a drawer of her night table. _I'll give it to him in the morning, _she thought as she drifted off to sleep.


	37. Snake in the Lion's Den

"... and this is our common room," said Hermione, spreading her arms wide as if to encompass the room that had become her home.

"Its so... bright," Draco replied, noting the vaulted ceilings and high windows. "You've got throw pillows," he added with a laugh.

"Genuinely used for throwing, too, " Hermione smiled, then turned at the sound of the portrait hole slamming closed.

"I'm telling you, Harry, that catch was amazing. Shame it was only a practice, though." Ron paused as her noticed Draco standing very comfortably in the middle of _his_ common room. "What the bloody hell is he doing here?" Ron shouted. "_Get out!_"

"Ron--" Hermione started, but Ron quickly interrupted her, "Don't 'Ron' me. This is the Gryffindor common room. Hence the fact that its full of Gryffindors. **He. Can't. Be. Here**."

"I suppose I'll just be off, then," Draco said quietly, not wanting to further inflame Ron, who was certainly still an enemy.

"I'll go with you," Hermione added, casting an angry look at Ron.

All the while, Harry had been standing there silently, waiting for the confrontation to be over so he could wash the grime of Quidditch away in peace.

"I'll see you later, mate," he said as he gathered up some clean clothes.

And Ron was left alone again.

* * *

Harry had barely stepped into the hallway leading off the common room when the portrait hole opened again.

"RON!" shouted Ginny the moment she walked in. "Oops. Sorry, Harry, didn't mean to yell in your face," she added awkwardly.

"No, its alright."

"Oh," Ginny said quickly, digging into her robes. "Erm, this is for you." She then inched around him and into the common room. Harry could hear her shout, "What did you say to Hermione, Ron? She's ..." as he walked out.  
_  
She's what?_ he wondered. _Infuriated? _It wouldn't surprise him. He'd have a talk with Ron later about how to treat one's enemies politely. That is, if he could come up with ways to do so while he was in the bath.

Harry walked into the bathroom and promptly looked around for anyone else. This was the only time that Hogwarts' communiality ever got to him. He liked to bathe in privacy.

"Hullo?" he asked aloud, his voice echoing back at him.

"'Lo?" someone answered.

"Nothing, just checking for people. I'll come back later."

"No, don't worry, I'm done," answered the voice. It was a girl's voice, one he'd didn't recall, but who sounded familiar. A lithe, pale girl emmerged from round the corner, toweling off her long red hair.

"You're Blaise, right?" Harry asked.

"Yeah... yes, how'd you know?" she asked back uncertainly. Blaise was so unacustomed to people noticing her that it caught her off guard.

"You're a friend of Draco... erm, Malfoy?"

"Yes. And you're Harry Potter," she said seriously.

"Yeah, that's true," Harry laughed. It had been a while since someone had told him his own name, and he always found it funny.

"You're a friend of Hermione, then?" Blaise asked. She stood in front of a mirror, quickly charming the rest of the water from her hair.

"You know her?" Harry asked. He studied this girl and wondered why Draco had picked Hermione over her. She was tall and thin with wide, round eyes and deep red hair. He began to feel almost angry at Draco for having someone so beautiful and then taking Hermione away from him.

"Oh, yes. She's... erm... very clever. I don't know her really, though. Draco doesn't like me talk to her. 'fraid I'll scare her away, I suppose," Blaise replied, smiling. Her tone of voice made it difficult for Harry to distinguish whether or not she was kidding.

"Well..." Harry started, but Blaise interrupted.

"I'll let you alone, then," she said, and was quickly gone. Harry was glad to see her leave. Not because she was rude or unkind, but because he was dirty and simply wanted a hot bath.

A few minutes later, Harry was soaking in a tub of hot water and heavy foam. He rummaged through his robe pockets for Ginny's note.

_Harry,_

_Very simply put, I want you to know that I care about you. I don't expect anything in return. Although, it wouldn't hurt to talk to me once in a while, would it?_

_Ginny_

"Way to make me feel great, Ginny..." Harry mused aloud. He felt terrible for some reason, though he hadn't done anything awful lately. He almost wasn't ready to talk to her again yet, but things had been so strained around the common room the he was willing to give it a try.

Harry threw the note back into his robes and stepped out of the bath. It was almost time for dinner.


	38. You're the Enemy

Harry made his way back to the common room to meet up with Ron before heading down to the Great Hall. He saw Ron sitting across from Ginny playing chess and Harry could immediately tell something was bothering him.

"What wrong, Ron? Hermione still mad at you?" Harry asked.

"I dunno," Ron answered non-commitally.

"What's wrong then? You look cross."

"Ginny's beating me!" Ron said angrily, motioning to the chessboard in front of him. Ginny's queen had just checkmated Ron's king while he'd been talking to Harry. "Blast it!"

"You've got to pay more attention, Ronald," Ginny said, a victorious grin on her face.

"Good work, Ginny," Harry said, clapping her on the shoulder. It only felt a little odd to speak to her after so long not.

"Erm... thanks."

"Losing makes me hungry," Ron said seriously, "lets get something to eat."

Ginny lost Harry and Ron as they made their way down to dinner. When they were out of earshot of the people around them, Harry asked: "Did you talk to Hermione?"

"No, nor do I think I want to."

"Why not?"

"Malfoy makes me crazy, mate," Ron burst out. "I want it to just be the three of us again. We never do anything dangerous anymore."

"I seem to remember you being the one always afraid when we'd do 'dangerous things'," Harry laughed.

"Well, I was young."

"I'm glad we haven't had to, honestly. Its like normal life finally," Harry sighed.

"Never thought of it that way. Sorry."

"No, don't worry about it," Harry said. He didn't expect Ron to understand, anyway.

When dinner was done, Hermione approached Ron and Harry. Ron turned his head away from her as soon as she drew near, but Harry smiled at her. _We can't all get along at once, can we_? he thought.

"'Lo, Hermione," Harry said. Hermione just nearly ignored him. She glanced at him briefly, the only sign that she'd heard him.

"Ronald," she said stiffly.

"What?" Ron asked, his voice gruff and angry-sounding.

"Why must you be this way, Ron, honestly? Dumbledore's always said that we need to communicate with members of other houses. There needs to be unity… Why can't you just accept that."

"Because it means I have to be friendly with that git!" Ron said quickly.

"Because it means I have to be friendly with that git!" Ron said quickly. "Thats the same bloke who called you a mudblood, or do you not remember that now? He's practically a Death Eater! Is that what you want for yourself?" Ron's voice had escalated from an angry growl to a shout over the course of his ranting, and the remainder of the people in the Great Hall had gathered to hear him.

Hermione could hear them whispering, and she didn't like what she was hearing: _"Heard his dad killed his mum over holiday, isn't that awful?" "Not if you don't like Slytherins, it isn't." "I can't believe a Gryffindor would ever be with a Slytherin..."_

It simply got worse the longer she listened to it.

"I can't believe you, Ron! I thought you were my friend," Hermione cried.

"I was your friend..." he answered quietly.

"I don't think so, Ron, because a friend would never do this." With that she turned and stormed off toward their common room.

"Hermione, wait!" Harry shouted, and ran after her.

The Great Hall was mostly empty by now, all the gawking whisperers had moved on. Ron sat down on the third stair to the bottom, not knowing what to do.

"Get up, Weasley," a voice commanded. _Oh no,_ thought Ron,_ not you..._ He looked up to see Draco standing angrily over him.

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

"You know what, Weasley? Potter has always hated me more than you, but when his best friend asked him to give me a chance, he did. Want to know why? Because he really is the bigger man than you."

"Say that again, Malfoy!" Ron shouted angrily, daring Draco to provoke him again.

"You. Are. Harry's. Sidekick," Draco said bluntly, accenting every word. "You're not good enough to be the hero on your own, so you cling to not one, but two people who are much stronger than you, both magically and as people. You're pathetic."

Ron could honestly think of nothing to say back, so he tightened his fist around his wand.

"Don't curse me, you stupid prat. You'll just backfire it onto yourself again." Draco paused, then continued with his rant, "You really are a disgrace to wizard kind. Not because you associate with muggles and mudbloods, like my... my father once said, but because you are truly a terrible friend, a horrible wizard, and a complete waste of space."

"Don't hold back, Malfoy, tell me how you really feel," Ron mummbled sarcastically.

"And don't you ever, ever mistreat Hermione like that again," Draco added, having not heard Ron's snarky previous statement, "or I swear I will curse you till you don't know your own name."

"Seems like I remember saying the same thing to you a few years ago, don't you? What changed?"

"You're the enemy now, Ron. That's what's changed."


	39. Coming Around

Draco stormed away angrily, leaving Ron standing alone near the stairs. .Draco headed straight to the Gryffindor common room, hoping to comfort Hermione.He quickly reached the Fat Lady, who eyed him suspiciously.

"Password?" she asked.

"Erm.. I don't know it. Could I just knock, perhaps? I'm expected," Draco lied, hoping that Harry or Hermione were in the common room and would hear him.

"Well... I wouldn't normally, but... Just give my frame a tap, there." And Draco did as was told. In a few moments Harry appeared, looking bewildered. Without a word, he moved aside to let Draco in.

Hermione was no longer crying, but she was looking quite angry as she sat in a corner chair.

"I dunno if she'll want to talk. She's fairly... erm... ticked."

"I don't care if she talks to me," Draco said, approaching Hermione slowly.

"I think I very well might hate him," she said, looking up at the boys. Draco knelt down beside her and took her hand.

"Just because he's a prat sometimes... you shouldn't hate him," he said, his voice somewhat unsure, then he quickly smiled.

"Draco's right, Hermione, Ron'll come around eventually," Harry agreed, nodding his head for effect.

"What'll I do until then, though?" she asked wearily.

"I dunno, honestly, but we'll figure something out," Harry answered, as encouragingly as he could.

* * *

Ron could scarcely help but wonder, was he really Hermione's enemy? Was that what she honestly thought of him, or was it just another ploy of Malfoy's to make him second guess himself? There was no real way to be sure, other than to ask, and Ron certainly had no intention of talking to Hermione any time soon.

What he could do, however, was corner Harry as soon as he left the common room and ask him. Because, really, that was almost as good as asking Hermione, anyway.

"Hey, mate," Ron said, startling Harry. He'd hidden outside the common room, waiting for Harry to pass by alone before talking to him.

'Jeeze, Ron, watch out next time. I might've hexed you from shock."

"Erm, yeah. Sorry 'bout that. Look... I just had a run in with Malfoy--"

"So I heard. You really upset him, and that's just made Hermione angrier with you," Harry interrupted.

"**I** upset **him**!" Ron exclaimed, "He called me a disgrace to wizard-kind. He said that I was your sidekick, like I was unworthy of being known other than being your friend!"

"I know. He went ahead and told Hermione everything he said, and apologized to me for dragging my name in."

"Right gentlemen he is now, isn't he? Well, he's not fooling me, I've seen his true colors. He... " Ron paused, almost unable to think of the words, "... he said I was the enemy now, not him."

"He didn't tell me that," said Harry quietly.

Ron sighed, looking utterly dejected. "I feel like I am, mate. 'Mione just doesn't give a damn about me anymore, and I miss her."

"Then apologize! She'll forgive you eventually," Harry pleaded.

"No. No way, definitely not. I didn't do anything. I didn't ask to be brought into this. She can keep her little Slytherin pet, since she's chosen him instead of me. Clearly my friendship isn't that important." And with that, Ron stormed away.

"What a prat," Harry muttered angrily. He was unsure as to what he should do, so he headed down to the Quidditch pitch. _A few good laps should clear everything up_.


	40. An Interesting Find

After leaving Hermione alone in her dorm, Draco headed back to his own common room, his mind filled with an empty sense of longing. Being in the Gryffindor common room made him pine for a home and a family to call his own, something he'd never really had, but always wanted. He only truly felt at home there, even though he was surrounded by those he had once seen as enemies.

He entered the Slytherin common room feeling dejected and lonely, wanting only someone to comfort him.

"Draco, what's wrong?" Blaise asked him as soon as he sat down.

"Nothing," he sighed, "I'm just tired, that's all."

"Is it Hermione?" Blaise inquired, trying to sound curious.

"No." 

"Miss your mum?"

"Yeah, actually," Draco admitted, but didn't feel too keen on talking about it. Luckily for him, he didn't have to, for Professor Snape entered the common room, looking pointedly at Draco.

"Professor?" 

"Draco, the Headmaster wishes to speak to you," Snape said tersely.

"Ermm... about what, sir?" 

"I'm not sure, Mr. Malfoy, or else I'd have already told you. Come now," Snape said, leading Draco back into the corridor.

When they arrived at Professor Dumbledore's office, Snape gave the password ("Ice Mice") and left Draco there alone.

"Professor?" Draco called up the spiral stair.

"Come up, Draco," Dumbledore's calming voice called back.

Draco found him seated behind his large desk, a sherbet lemon in his hand.

"Would you like one?" he asked, offering the sweet to Draco.

"No, thank you, sir."

"You must be curious as to why I have called you here," Dumbledore stated quietly, and Draco nodded. "Several months ago, you left me the key, so to speak, to your father's study, wherein I found many very interesting things. However, on a trip to the kitchen one day after a rousing afternoon of searching, I happened across your mother's library. I must say that even as an old man, my curiosity is as young as ever, so I had a bit of a look around. Under a book on your mother's desk, I found this," and with that, Dumbledore pulled out a heavy parchment envelope with Draco's name signed neatly on the front.

"I thought you should like to read it," he added, almost as an afterthought, handing the envelope to Draco, who held it so carefully in his hands, as though it were made of spun sugar.

"May I go, sir?" Draco asked, wanting to read the letter alone.

"Of course. Good afternoon to you, Draco. Do come back if you need anything."

'Erm... sure," Draco said distractedly, and with that he was gone.


	41. Narcissa's Last Thoughts

As soon as Draco exited the Headmaster's office, he carefully, but excitedly, ripped the envelope open. He immediately recognized his mother's small, neat handwriting, and his insides swelled with joy. He felt full to the bursting with happiness to be holding the letter. It was as if his mother knew he had been so desperately missing her, and she had left a messege for him. Of course, he knew that was untrue, but he thought it nontheless.

He held the thin piece of parchment in trembling hands as he read:

_My Darling Draco,_

_As I write this to you, I fear I have little time left. Your father grows more and more occupied with the Dark Lord as each day passes, and I know my time on this earth grows short. Once you have reached your coming of age, I will no longer be with you. Please, my darling, cherish this time while you can, for when you are an adult, far from being freed to do as you please, you will be indentured and soon destroyed._

_Your father gave you away to the Dark Lord before you were even born, and though I tried to stop it, I had no say. The Dark Lord wished for an heir, lest your father die before the Dark Lord was reborn. Your father may tell you somday that you're to be the Dark Lord's heir, but that is all a lie. Though he tells his followers that he was restored with the blood of Harry Potter, the Dark Lord is still weak. He needs only one thing to regain his full power, and that thing is you._

_Be watchful, and do not leave Hogwarts, for only there are you safe from him. He will kill you, my love, the moment you have turned seventeen. Then you will truly be a man, and a man is all that he wishes to become._

_My only wish is to be with you, and help you to freedom, but I doubt that will be possible. I'll do everything in my power, darling, but I want you to know that if I am gone, don't worry. I'll always be with you._

_Find an escape, my love._

_Your mother,  
Narcissa_

The happy excitement that had blossomed inside Draco was now shriveled and gone._ She knew all along she was going to die... _Draco thought miserably. His poor, poor mother. He contimplated going straight back to Professor Dumbledore's office and telling him, but he was unsure as to whether he'd be strong enough. Instead, he headed back to his common room. He needed comfort, and only Blaise could truly understand his loss.

She was seated primly on a pouf in front of the coffee table, writing something important-looking and long. She was so near the fire that the flames reflected in her eyes and on her hair, making the color dance. She turned to look at him when he got near.

"What're you doing?" he asked hollowly.

"Potions essay for Snape. He's still angry at me about ... the incident," she said, holding up her still bandaged hands.

"Still? Holds a grudge, doesn't he?" Draco said, then added, "Do they hurt you much?"

"Oh... well, no. I mean, not really," Blaise lied. The burns had turned to gashes, and the gashes to something painfully between a scab and a scar. Madam Pomfrey had said this was not terribly uncommon, but that if it didn't heal soon, Blaise may need a trip to St. Mungo's. Blaise feared that place. She'd gone there as a child to see her brother before he'd died, and dreams of it still haunted her. "Madam Pomfrey says they're doing fine, and should be all healed in no time."

"But it's been months. Shouldn't they be better?" Draco asked, sitting on the floor next to her, his mother's letter pushed to the back of his mind. "Let me see them, then."

Blaise jerked away from his touch, hot pain shooting up her arms. "No! You just let them alone, will you? I told you I'm fine." She paused. "I'm sure you have other things to worry about..."

"I worry about your wellbeing. Now give them here, come on," Draco cajolled, holding his hands out.

"They look worse than they are," Blaise warned. Draco unwrapped the bandages and Blaise winced.

"Ugh, Blaise these burns are awful. They're... seeping reddish stuff, look." Draco seemed appalled. Not at the wound, since he'd had worse, but at Blaise for keeping it from him.

"That reddish stuff is blood, Draco."

"What? Its still bleeding after all this time?" He was shocked. "You little liar, tell me what's really going on," Draco demanded.

Blaise told him everything, how she'd been waking up at night crying from the pain, how she was afraid she'd be put in St. Mungo's, and how hard it had been to keep it all from him.

"But you've been so busy with Hermione lately, I thought... I didn't want to bother you with it," she blurted out, then suddenly looked very guilty. "I didn't mean to say that..."

"Oh... I'm so sorry, I really am," Draco said quietly. He pulled her close to him into a hug.

"Love you, baby dragon," Blaise said softly. He hadn't heard that name since he was a child still in nappies. His mother had called him that...

"Love you, too, firefly," he said back, calling Blaise the nickname her mother had given her when she was a little girl.

"Anything bothering you?" Blaise asked after they'd sat in silence for a while.

"Actually..." Draco started, then told her everything that had been in his mother's letter.

"Oh, Draco, that's terrible!" She said, sitting upright. You have to tell the Headmaster!"

"I planned on it, but I wanted to talk to you first."

"Oh, don't be stupid. Your birthday is only a month away, we barely have any time at all to think of a plan."

Draco honestly hadn't thought of it that way. His birthday had never been important to him, so the eleventh of May was a practically meaningless date.

Blaise dragged him back to the Headmaster's office, and Draco recounted everything to Professor Dumbledore.

"This is startling news," Dumbledore said quietly, placing his fingertips together under his chin. "Well, that's it, then. You'll be staying here for the summer. Sadly, there will be no more Hogsmeade trips for you, of course, nor any other outings. In the meantime, the other professors and I will think of something more permenant."

Draco nodded, and Professor Dumbledore smiled a thin sort of smile.

"Do not worry, Draco. You will most likely be safe in the end. However, if you somehow won't be, there's no need in worrying about it now, is there?"

"I suppose not, sir," Draco answered.

"Well, then. Off you go." Dumbledore said, shooing them from his office.

"He's a strange one, isn't he?" Blaise asked as they made their way back to their common room.


	42. Some Getting Used To

Though Draco didn't like it, he let Blaise tell Fiona about his situation, and in turn he also let Hermione tell Harry.  
_  
Soon the whole school will know, and I'll really have no chance_, he thought to himself glumly. Draco hadn't exactly resigned himself to his fate, but he nearly knew that he wouldn't think of a plan. He'd allowed himself to stay within routine, not letting the news disrupt his life, although he slept worse at nights at could never quite finish his meals. Otherwise, though, he and Blaise both thought he was getting along quite normally, considering.

"Don't worry," Blaise assured him, albeit less than wholeheartedly, "Dumbledore will think of something."

"Uh-huh," Draco said dismissively. "'Scuse me..." he added, his voice distracted. Blaise turned to see Hermione walking into the Great Hall, and Draco following after her.

Gone were the days when Hermione and Draco met only under deepest of secrecy. Draco now approached her as she was accompanied by Ginny and several other Gryffindor girls, and he didn't give it a second thought.

"Don't go in there today," said Draco, gesturing toward the Hall. " Just sit on the stairs with me."

"Alright," Hermione answered, then looking at Ginny she added, "I'm sorry, Gin."

"Don't worry about it," Ginny answered calmly, clumping back together with the other girls and sitting down.

Draco and Hermione walked to the grand staircase and sat on the bottom few steps, not saying anything, but speaking volumes with their silence.

* * *

Harry and Ron were just coming down to the Great Hall for lunch. Though Ron would neither speak to nor even look at Hermione and Draco, he would still talk to Harry, so Harry felt obliged to split his time between them. Harry had been bursting to tell Ron about Draco's predicament, but afraid he wouldn't care at all. After days of deliberation, though, Harry finally told him.

"But then... he isn't going to be a Death Eater?" Ron asked incredulously.

"No," Harry answered for the third time.

"And ... You-Know-Who is going to ... to sacrifice him like he tried to do you, when... well, after the Tri-Wizard Tournament?"

"Yeah."

"And he _actually cares about_ Hermione?" Ron asked, stressing the sentence. This was, in fact, all he wanted to know.

"Yeah. He really does. Its almost weird, but he really seems to..." Harry paused, expecting to feel that heartwrenching sensation of saying another man loves the woman you love, but the sensation never came. "He really seems to love her."

"Well, I suppose he's alright then," Ron said abruptly.

"Really?"

"I guess so. I mean, he's still a prat, that won't change, but I mean... he's all changed round on you, hasn't he? He's nice to you and all that, so he must have really changed. It'll take some getting used to but..." Ron trailed off.

"Yeah. I know what you mean."


	43. The Plan

Harry had finally harassed Ron into formally apologizing to Hermione, and the three of them plus Draco, Blaise and Fiona were hard at working thinking of a plan to save Draco's life.

"Never thought I'd be spending nights up in the library trying to save your skin, Draco," Fiona laughed as the she pulled off Harry's invisibility cloak.

"Neither did I!" Harry, Hermione and Ron all three chimed in at once. All of them chuckled a bit, but grew quickly serious again.

The small group had taken to meeting in the Room of Requirements at night, taking turns running to the library under Harry's cloak. It was Thursday, so it was Fiona's turn to seach.

"Find anything useful?" Blaise asked.

"Nothing, really," Fiona sighed back.

"The way I see it, we've only got one option," Hermione said slowly. "Putting a Fidelius Charm on somewhere very well hidden, making someone unsuspected the secret keeper, and wait it out."

"I'll never do it," Draco countered quickly, his voice defiant. "I might have to hide my entire life before someone kills Voldemort. I'd be a prisoner forever."

"There's got to be another way..." Ron mused. "What about a Polyjuice Potion?"

"That wouldn't work," Hermione said, dejectedly. "We only have three weeks until Draco's birthday, not a month."

"I know a way," said Blaise. All eyes turned upon her, and she blushed, then continued. "Great potions masters often find ways around the standard procedures used in spells and potions, with little ill effects. Professor Snape is one of the greatest potions masters alive today, I'm sure he knows something."

"Should we wait unitl morning?" Ron asked. He was less than keen to wake Snape up in the middle of the night.

"No, we'll go to Dumbledore now and ask his help, too. Then he can go with us down to Snape's office," Harry said.

-----  
When they arrived at Dumbledore's office, Harry immediately began spouting Hunydukes' candies. Draco cut him off abruptly.

"Ice Mice," he said.

"How did you know that?" Harry asked, bewildered.

"Oh, you aren't Dumbledore's only favorite boy now, are you?" Draco answered smuggly as he jogged up the spiral staircase. Professor Dumbledore was seated at his desk, hands pressed together, and a Pensieve under his chin.

"I see you've been moving about the castle these last few nights, Draco," he said, smiling. "Have you thought up any clever ideas?"

"Yes, Professor, but we aren't sure if it'll work," Hermione asnwered breathlessly. They had run so quickly up to Dumbledore's office that they were all tired and panting.

"Please, enlighten me," Dumbledore said, leaning over his desk in interest.

"A Polyjuice Potion, sir," Blaise said quietly from the back of the group. "We're nearly sure that Professor Snape can find a way to make one in the time we have."

"Of course, of course... Severus can surely do this... but how will this protect Draco?"

"We'll change him into someone who's out of danger, like ... Neville Longbottom, or Snape," Harry said. He was growing impatient with all this talking. There was a life at stake.

"Both of those people would be foolish to change Draco into, Harry. Neville has already been marked, like you, with the sacrifice of his parents, and Professor Snape is still spying on Voldemort for me. It would be unwise to allow Draco to be so close."

"We'll think of something while Professor Snape is brewing the potion, sir," Fiona said finally.

"Yes, yes... quite," Dumbledore answered. "Well, all of you should be off to bed now. I'll ask Severus about this right away. Goodnight, all." And with that, they left, going thier seperate ways.


	44. The Last Battle

With Ron and Hermione now talking again, Harry found his life turned completely upside-down. If even a year ago someone had told him that he'd be associating with a Slytherin, let alone Draco Malfoy, he would have laughed at them till he couldn't see straight. Now he felt he might risk his life to save the same boy he'd hated so much only a few months ago.

Not that he counted Draco as a real friend; they were still far from that. But he didn't think him evil, and that was what mattered. Harry had finally realized that they were, in fact, on the same side, and if that meant risking his life for Draco, Harry would do it.

It had been hard thinking up the plan, of course, but thankfully Professor Snape had been undaunted by the task ahead of him.

"Of course I can, don't be ridiculous," he had said to Dumbledore, and had immediately begun listing ingredients for the potion on a scrap of parchment. "Luckily I've had these lacewing flies stewing for the last three days, that should cut down the time needed on the potion. Of course, I'll have to set some more stewing for other things..." Snape trailed off. He quickly ordered Blaise, Fiona and Draco to gathering potion supplies, while Harry, Hermione and Ron were set to more menial tasks, such as conjuring a very hot fire, thoroughly cleaning two large cauldrons and tending to the stewing potion base.

Aside from the usual lacewing flies, leeches, powdered bicorn horn, knotgrass, fluxweed, and boomslang skin used in the potion, Snape also set the three Slytherins to gather together mint, two silver unicorn hairs, Jobberknoll feathers, dragon liver, and a hearty glass of port.

"Port, sir?" Blaise asked.

"Yes, Zabini, port. I shall need several large glasses of it daily to keep my sanity. Now fetch those things, quickly!" he snapped. Once the ingredients were gathered (and the large goblet of port in his hand), Snape dismissed them all, saying, "If any of you are without your homework in my class tomorrow, you will have hell to pay. Now get to your common rooms, and get to work!"

"He needs to straighten out his priorities," Ron whispered quietly as they left.

The next week passed in the blink of an eye. The group had been so deeply engrossed in planning that even Hermione had put homework into the back of her mind.

"Hermione, Dumbledore gave us classes off, why are you thinking of homework at all?" Ron asked, after Hermione had stated that she'd given up on schoolwork for good.

"I just… can't stop. It's a very hard habit to break," she said, a little embarrassedly. She plopped down next to Draco on a sofa that had recently appeared in the Room of Requirements. To begin with, there were only books and a few cushions, but they'd been returning so often that every time they entered anew, there was something else useful to behold.

"I can't wait like this anymore," Draco said abruptly. "That potion will be done in a few days… my birthday is next week… we still don't have a plan."

"I have a plan."

All eyes turned to Harry, who had been much more silent than usual the last few days.

"Well? Don't just sit there looking smug," Draco said tartly. "Tell me!"

"You won't like it."

"Of course he'll like it, you silly prat, its going to save his life!" Blaise burst out. She actually thought Harry was very nice, and not a prat at all. She was so worried about Draco that her sense of reason was slowly ebbing away.

"Well… It's like this. The only person who can destroy Voldemort is me… and the only one who can bring him to full power is Draco, right? So…" he paused, gathering his thoughts, "so, Draco and I should switch places. Then, Voldemort can try to kill me, and instead, I'll kill him."

Now that he said it aloud, the plan didn't seem quite as well-formed as it had in his mind. He expected everyone to promptly tell him what a stupid idea it was, but Blaise and Hermione both looked considering, and Draco was nodding his head.

"I want to be there, though," Draco said finally. "He'll think I'm you, so when I show up, he'll come after me, giving you a chance to get him while he isn't paying you any attention."

"I can't find any flaws, really," Fiona said approvingly. "I mean, there're risks, of course…"

"Well, it's the best plan we've got, anyway," agreed Ron.

"I'll go tell Dumbledore," Draco said, and with that, everyone dispersed.

When Draco appeared back in the Room of Requirements, Hermione's and Blaise's eyes were already brimming over with tears. Fiona stood steadfastly unblinking, but her eyes glistening with tears that she wouldn't let fall. Ron was stone still and completely while, his hands balled in determinate fists. When Harry and Draco approached him, he gave them both a good, strong handshake, and said, "Be careful, mates."

Draco turned to Blaise, who was now shaking with sobs.

"Don't go," she pleaded. "You're the only family I have left."

"You still have Fiona, and now you've got Hermione and her friends, as well." He smiled a bit. "We're not on our own anymore, Firefly." She hugged him fiercely.

He moved from her to Hermione, who was no longer crying, but looking at Draco with an air of unstoppable determination.

"You'll come back." It wasn't a question or even a wish, but a statement said in such away to make it sound like fact.

"I will," Draco answered reassuringly, though he truly didn't know. He paused for a long time before hugging her tightly. "I love you," he said finally.

"I know," she said, "that's why you'll come back." Draco nodded stiffly. They hugged again, and when he let go, Hermione rushed to Harry, hugging him to.

After a quick shake of hands with Fiona, who assured him that he'd be fine, Draco and Harry walked out of the castle, and into the night.


	45. Fin

Harry and Draco trekked until they could no longer see the distant lights of the castle glimmering. On their way, Harry had told Draco everything he'd need to know about being the Boy Who Lived, including Wormtail's life debt to him, his mother and father, Sirius, and Voldemort. Draco, in turn, told Harry every pertinent thing about his life that he could remember. After they'd run out of things to say, they grew quiet and remained so for hours.

After two hours of walking they reached a clearing in the trees. Harry looked around uncertainly.

"How will you know when you've found the right place?" Draco asked.

"I'll know," Harry said. "I can still hear his thoughts, sometimes. I can sense him. He's particularly on edge, as of now. He's looking for you, trying to see if he can sense you coming near. He thinks you're under his spell."

"What spell?"

"He's trying to draw you in, using some kind of ancient magic. There's something wrong with it, though… He's not sure what." Harry said all this with a look of intense concentration on his face.

"You can tell all that?"

"When he's excited, he's easier to understand," Harry answered simply. Draco was still baffled, but asked no more questions.

Hours passed. The moon was full and straight overhead when Harry stopped abruptly.

"This is it," he said. "Quickly, drink the potion!"

They both rummaged through their cloaks for the tiny vials of potion. They downed the gelatinous ooze, and soon they had switched everything: bodies, clothes, even wands. Harry gave Draco his glasses, and said glibly, "Don't break them, or else you'll be blind as a bat, and no help to me at all." They both smiled grimly.

Harry took his wand and tucked it neatly in a tiny pocket in the inside of his sleeve. Draco looked at him curiously.

"Well, Voldemort won't expect you to pull a wand on him. You're supposed to be under his spell, remember?" Harry answered quickly.

He took hold tightly of Draco's arm, and though he still didn't technically know how to Apparate, he concentrated hard on the image in his mind and jumped.

They landed heavily on the grass outside of what Harry recognized as the Riddle Mansion.

"Is this where you meant to land?" Draco whispered snarkily. He wasn't keen on having been dropped into dewy grass.

"No," said Harry, "but its close. He's in there." He pointed to an upstairs window.

"Is he alone? I mean, he can't let his Death Eater's know about this, can he?"

"Of course not… but, no, he's not alone. There's someone else there too, I just can't tell who. If he'd only look at them, I could see…" Harry concentrated hard, but could determine nothing. "Let's go."

They snuck silently, a sound repelling charm placed upon them both. When they reached the outside of the door, Harry said, "I'll go in. You stay here until I need you. You'll know when."

Harry burst through the door, and it snapped closed behind him. He suddenly felt light and carefree. Nothing mattered…

_Wait, what's happening to me?_ he wondered. A voice in the back of his mind answered,_ You're going home, to be with your mother and father._

_Mum and dad?_ Harry thought excitedly. _Oh yes, that sounds wonderful…_ Then it slowly dawned on him that his mother and father were dead, and he wasn't keen on being dead anytime soon.

_No, I don't think I will, thanks,_ thought Harry, and suddenly his body was overtaken by spasms of horrible pain. He thought harder, _No, I don't think I'll die today, if you don't mind_. The pain ebbed away, a bit at a time. He regained some use of his body, and discovered he'd been lying face-down on the floor.

_The Imperius curse!_ he thought as he stood up_… but I wonder why I couldn't fight it at first?_ He looked wildly around for Voldemort, but saw only Wormtail.

"_Levaitate_!" came Voldemort's voice from the corner just next to the window. Harry, inside Draco's body, was pulled from the ground and into the air until he hung above a large cauldron.

Then he saw him.

Voldemort had been sitting in the darkness, Nagini wrapped around the legs of his chair. He had risen now, his full height somewhat more than Harry remembered.

"Ah yes, Draco, I have you now…"

"No you don't!" came a shout from the doorway. Harry twisted in midair to see himself burst through the door. _Draco, you idiot, I told you not to come till I called you_, he thought.

"Oh Harry, how little you truly know," Voldemort sighed, with the air of a father chiding his child. "Did you think I would let you come between my soul and my new self? This boy, well… he's a man, now," he pointed to Harry in Draco's form, suspended above the enormous silver cauldron, "this man is all that I care about now. You're still just a boy, Harry."

He pointed his wand lazily at Harry's body, and without a word, Draco's mind went blissfully blank.

"But, then, I suppose that's another thing we have in common, isn't it, Harry? We're both just so nearly men, but not enough to matter. But whereas only time can help you, Harry, I already have what will make me a man." He motioned his hand to Draco's body, and Harry's mind, floating and unable to free himself.

Draco was very near panicking. Every inch of his body ached with the concentration of fighting Voldemort's spell. Somehow, he could access a part of his mind that he'd never been able to before. _Maybe_, he thought wildly, _that isn't my mind I'm accessing. Maybe it's Harry's_. He knew Harry could fight the Imperius curse, and now, for the first time, he was fighting it too.

"Now, go away," Voldemort said dismissively, throwing his hand in the direction of Harry's body. Draco let himself give into this command. He had to let Voldemort think that he was still under the curse. He flew across the room, landing heavily against the far wall.

"Wormtail," Voldemort said tersely, "kill him."

"W-what? Master, don't you want to… I mean, the prophesy, my Lord?" Wormtail mumbled feebly.

"No, no… one must not hold stock in things as uncertain as prophesies. That is one lesson Dumbledore taught me that has held true…" Voldemort said, his eyes still fixated on Harry, still suspended in mid-air over the cauldron, which was now hissing and boiling in a menacing way.

Wormtail inched toward Draco, who had crumpled on the floor in a heap, his wand falling next to him, just out of arm's reach. Voldemort paid them no attention.

"You can't kill me, Peter," Draco whispered, quickly drawing on all the information Harry had told him before they'd left. "What about my father? If he could see you now, cowering before _him_," he cast his eyes toward Voldemort, "what would he think? You're not a coward, Peter, you don't have to kill me. You can still redeem yourself."

His heart was racing. It was a long shot, and Draco knew it, but anything was worth a try at this point. He could see Wormtail's hands sweating, slipping on his wand, which was pointed uncertainly at Draco's neck.

"If you let me go and you help me, we can kill him together. You'll be able to come out of hiding as a free man," Draco continued quietly, carefully inching his hand toward his fallen wand as he talked. "You'll be forgiven, respected…."

Wormtail said nothing, but his eyes betrayed him. He wanted so badly to leave this life behind and start anew, but he was still gripped by fear. His eyes sparkled now with tears as he lowered his head. Draco let out a sigh of relief as his fingers finally closed around his wand again. Taking a leaf from Harry's book, he slipped it up his sleeve and out of sight.

"I'm so sorry Harry. I loved your parents… I was so frightened. I never wanted to do it." Tears cascaded down his cheeks, but he quickly wiped them away. "I was scared, everyone was scared…"

"I know, but you don't have to be anymore," Draco said, nearly silently. "Once he's dead, you'll be free."

"No, Harry… he'll never die." Wormtail said these words with the cold intuition of someone who knew what they shouldn't. Draco shuddered. Would those words be the last he'd hear?

"I'm sorry Harry… I'm so sorry…" Wormtail cried, raising his wand. "AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Four voices rang out in the darkness, and four brilliant flashes of green light shone in the tiny room, then all went dark.

Harry gasped for breath, but his lungs only filled with liquid. Where am I? he thought, but then it all came flooding back to him. He launched himself up out of the burning hot cauldron, which he'd fallen into when the curses had hit. He looked around. No one was moving. Voldemort was stiff and still on the ground. Harry climbed out of the cauldron and began screaming.

"_AVADA KEDAVRA, AVADA KEDAVRA, AVADA KEDAVRA!"_ he shouted at Voldemort's still body. Nothing happened. Harry kicked him. He kicked him and stomped upon him and threw his fists at him. Nothing happened.

"He's dead!" Harry cried. "Draco, he's really dead!" But Draco didn't answer. Harry looked around. Draco was slumped against the wall by Wormtail, his eyes pulled open in horror.

"NO!" Harry screamed. "_REVERVATE_!" But nothing could wake Draco now.

He turned on Wormtail, who was equally unmoving and horrified-looking. "You…" he said, disgusted and seething. "You killed my parents, you betrayed me, you brought him back to power and now you've killed my friend!" Harry shouted at Wormtail's body. "Is there anything else you want to do to ruin my life?"

He viciously kicked Wormtail's body with all of his strength, and didn't stop kicking until he was weak and out of breath. "You're worse than him," Harry finally spat. He gathered up Draco's body, and unsteadily made his way out.

* * *

"He's dead," came a voice from outside Dumbledore's office, where everyone had gathered to wait. For a split second, everyone's faces brightened, thinking he was talking about Voldemort. Then Harry walked through the door.

"He's… dead." Harry said again stiffly. His voice was as flat and lifeless as the body in his arms.

"Oh, Harry… Harry," Hermione cried, fawning over the body.

"I'm Harry," Harry said, looking at the mirror image of himself in his own arms. "The potion hasn't worn off yet."

"Oh my God," Fiona gasped. She knelt over on the floor, picking Blaise up off of the carpeting. "She's fainted dead away…"

Hermione, too, was on the floor, but not from fainting. She wasn't crying, but looking at the floor, shaking her head in disbelief. "I don't know how it happened…"

"I don't either," Harry said. "Wormtail killed him, even though he had a life debt."

"Peter Pettigrew owed _you_ a life debt, Harry. Not Draco…" Dumbledore said, his voice heavy with guilt and sadness. "Tell me what happened."

"I'm not even sure, really. All of us shouted the killing curse at once. Mine hit Voldemort, and his hit me, but… his bounced off, again. I knew I was going to die because my mother's protection had been lifted, but I didn't. Voldemort went all stiff and fell over. I was dropped into a cauldron of boiling potion, and almost drowned. The next thing I knew, I couldn't breathe. I crawled out of the cauldron and… everyone was dead. Wormtail, Voldemort… Draco…"

"Then he's truly dead?" Dumbledore asked.

"Of course he is, look at him," Harry said angrily. "Oh... you mean - yes, he is."

"I think that is enough for tonight, Harry. You should go lay down, I think. Everyone, please leave us."

Fiona, with her arms tightly around Blaise, pulled her away from Draco's body and out the door. Ron was holding Hermione tightly, her face buried in his chest. He looked at Harry.

"When you're ready…" he started, but Harry interrupted him.

"I know. Will you take care of Hermione?"

" 'Course." Ron answered, and left.

Harry turned to Professor Dumbledore.

"Sir, do you mind if I… well, I mean, if I bury the… the body?" He asked uncertainly.

"Of course not, Harry. You and your friends are the only family he had left. I think it would be very fitting." He placed his arm around Harry's shoulder in a fatherly manner. "No come, let us get you to bed. All the rest of this unpleasantness can be taken care of in the morning."

"Sir, please, could we do it now? I don't think its right to wait."

"If you feel that is best, then you may. I will gather your friends. Meet me on the grounds." He paused. "I assume that is where we will bury him."

"I think so, sir. This is where his family is."

They gathered under a tree by the forest where Harry had dung a hole the old fashioned way, with a shovel and sweat. Dumbledore lowered a cloth-wrapped bundle into the ground, and Harry began to shovel the dirt back in.

Blaise raised her hand, and with her wand, moved dirt into the hole as well. Hermione was kneeling on the ground, pushing great handfuls of soil into the darkness. Fiona and Ron stood by, strangers intruding on their grief. Dumbledore reached down and patted a fist full of earth onto the finished grave, and as he drew his hand upward, a stone appeared beneath it. He ran his wand carefully across it, the words: "Draco Lucian Malfoy" etching themselves as he wrote.

They all gathered round the stone, some crying, others standing steadfast. When Ron suggested that someone say a few words, Fiona instead conjured her guitar. She played softly and cried. It was the same low and mournful song of love and loss she had been playing the night that Draco had watched her, and she felt it only fitting as a eulogy for his life.

When she was finished, Dumbledore stood.

"Draco died," he said quietly, "so we all could live, untethered by the tight and devious rein of a cruel master. He was a brave man, and we shall all miss him."

"You brought me to life," Hermione said, her voice almost silent. Ron and Harry bowed their heads, unable to look at her suffer.

Instead of speaking, which she was nearly incapable of now, Blaise took out her wand and carved the outline of a small dragon on the stone, and then she dissolved into sobs.

Dew was falling on them like tears, signaling an end to this unnaturally long night. The full yellow moon had fallen over them some time ago, leaving them alone in the half-darkness. The sun was raising in the east, the light tinting the sky over the lake red and spreading over the land like their grief. Day broke over them, huddled around a dead patch of earth, crying, while the rest of the world rejoiced.


End file.
